Archangel Saga: The Alphabet Killer
by Bexteron
Summary: Emma detests the idea of real life superheroes; in her eyes they've caused more problems than they've helped. But when her life takes an unexpected turn, and the lives of the ones she loves the most are threatened, she realizes that if they have any chance of survival, she will have to take things into her own hands to save them. Birthday fic for Rurrlock-God of Power. *ON HIATUS*
1. Pretenders

_**A/N:** Hey guys! This is my first Kick-Ass fic, and it happens to be a birthday present for a dear friend, **Rurrlock-God of Power. **The main character sometimes bashes his own character, Omega Kid, to begin with but things change; that is not a personal reflection on me at all. I thoroughly enjoy reading his story :D Some elements are loosely based around Omega Kid and some places from the story will be mentioned.  
**Disclaimer:** Any characters from Kick-Ass that are mentioned/used in this fic are only for recreational purposes, and absolutely no copyright infringement is intended.  
**Disclaimer:** There will be use of strong language, violence, drug and sexual refrences in this story. Rating may change._

* * *

"Skiving the first day back?"

I didn't need to look to know who it was. His voice was as familiar to me as my own heartbeat. Glancing up from my hiding place, my body covered in the shadow made by the shelter of the tree hanging over me, I laid my eyes on him.

Mike approached lazily, hands in his pockets and eyed me in that annoyingly too-close way he does; like he knew exactly what I was thinking. He was dressed in his school uniform, but as usual his blazer was noticeably absent, and his shirt hung around his waist, untucked. He rolled his shirtsleeves up over his muscular forearms, smiling easily under my scrutiny, causing the dimples in his cheeks to deepen. I narrowed my eyes at him and leaned my back against the trunk once again.

Tilting my head back, I blew out the smoke of my lit cigarette. Watching it drift away on the morning's gentle breeze, I growled, "Get fucked, Mike."

He chuckled as he moved up beside me, stealing the cigarette from my fingers. "I keep offering, but you keep shooting me down, Angel."

I smirked. "You're not my type."

He inhaled beside me, a pause, and exhaled a cloud of smoke into the air. "'Cos I have a dick?" he inquired curiously.

I elbowed him sharply in the ribs, and grinned at the pained '_oomph'_ sound that escaped his lips. Taking the cigarette back I shook my head and closed my eyes. "I was drunk, and I only fuckin' kissed her, that's it! When are you going to let that go?"

"When you kiss my ass, Angel," he replied easily.

The fuzzy memory of some girl in front of me, crushing her mouth to mine, her fingers in my hair, came back to me. The whole thing had just been a dare, the result of a drunken game that had become a little too heated with the more alcohol I consumed. It wasn't my fault the lass had a crush on me. How the fuck was I to know? There I was, goaded along by the wolf whistles and Vodka, completely unaware and detached from what was happening. It wasn't my fault she'd read too much into it.

By the next day, the fictitious rumour that I was gay had spread around faster than the plague. Back at school I'd faced jeers and a wider berth than I'd received before. Of course, like everything else I handled, I ignored it as I usually did everything else that bothered me, and people soon forgot. When they didn't, a well-placed fist to the face had served as a reminder for them to keep their mouths shut. Now, the only ones that brought it up were either the really brave or the really stupid, and Mike, who could unfortunately be both, brought it up whenever he pushed the possibility of '_Us'_.

I cracked open an eyelid, gazing at him where he leaned against the tree beside me. He wasn't too bad looking, but he was like my brother.

He matched my five foot seven, and where my hair was as light as the sun, his was as black as night. It fell around his eyes, the length brushing his ears. I knew without needing to ask him to open his eyes that they'd shine that delicious dark brown that they normally did, as if they held laughter from within them. He had the beginnings of happy lines around his eyes and mouth, a result of his annoying habit of smiling. All the baby fat had disappeared long ago, leaving the angular lines of his face sharp and mature, the tell-tale signs of a beard growing along his jaw.

"You can't keep your eyes off me, can you, Angel?" he asked, a smirk growing across his face. He opened his eyes and caught me looking.

Ignoring the rush of heat travelling to my face, I turned away, flicking the cigarette butt down the hill. "Don't flatter yourself. With a mug as ugly as yours, it's a miracle I can pull my eyes away from that train wreck you call a face. And how many times do I have to tell you to stop calling me Angel?" I snapped, letting the irritation I felt leak into my tone, knowing full well that it wouldn't bother him in the least.

Water off a damn duck's back.

I frowned at the stupid nickname he'd given me when we first started school. It had meant to be used as a way to piss me off when we'd first met, but somewhere along the way he had started using it as a term of endearment. However, I hadn't '_endeared'_ to it, as he'd hoped. Whenever he used it, some part of me couldn't help but feel as though he was taking the piss out of me. He knew of the unfortunate reputation I carried around me. Anyone that knew me as well as he did wouldn't associate the word _Angel_ with me, yet he still did.

"Why?" Mike rolled his head and stared at me. He looked for a long time, as though looking for something that could only be found on my face.

"Because it's a stupid nickname. How would you like it if I went 'round school calling you Ass face or something?"

"You already do," he pointed out dryly.

"Yeah, well," I paused for a moment as I thought. I'd almost completely forgotten the list of names that I called him on a regular basis. "I'll carry on doing it."

The sound of the school bell ringing in the distance caught my attention. I looked like I was going to be late again. Sighing deeply at the irritating prospect of being bitched at for being late again, I unhitched myself from the wall.

"What are you doing out here in the Wreck so early in the morning anyway, Angel?" Mike moved to keep pace with me. He had to squint as we stepped out of the shadow and the sun caught his eyes. When he looked to me again I heard his gasp. I groaned and braced myself, ready for _The Talk_ he always leapt to whenever I turned up with another mark. I had thought she hadn't hit hard enough, but obviously, I was wrong.

The smile that normally graced his face disappeared, and a dark cloud of barely repressed anger crossed his features in its place. Grabbing my chin, he forcefully tugged until he could lock his eyes with my own. "What the fuck did she do now?" he growled dangerously as he stared at my face. "There's bruise on your cheek, Emma! Another fucking bruise!"

I frowned as he focused his eyes on the spot under my left eye, knowing that he was judging – me…her. Remembering how I got the offending mark, I yanked my face out of his grip. "Just leave it, Mike," I warned hotly.

I turned to leave again, but his hand on my arm caught me, held me back. "Angel, you can't let her do this to you. What's it gonna be next time, huh? How long is it going to take before you start getting broken bones, or, what if she uses a weapon-?"

"Mike!" I turned my glare on him and he let go at. "Please, she just…she didn't mean it. She…" I searched for an excuse, but it was no use. He knew my mother was like; neither of us could come up with a good enough excuse to let her off the hook. It was only recently that her problems had gotten worse. Normally, the longer she left herself inebriated, the longer she left me alone. But it was as though she'd managed to barge through the haze to get to me last night.

My thoughts darkened, falling back to when I'd been relaxing in my room. I'd just been sat there, listening to my iPod, waiting for the night to wear on and the tiredness to take me. God knows I'd screamed and shouted at her until my throat had become red raw, sore from hours of exhausting myself with the effort of attempting to stop her from drinking herself to death again. Then suddenly the door had slammed open. My mother's speed, even during her drunken stupor, had caught me off guard. Frozen, my hand clutched the side of the bed instinctively, accidentally wrenching the iPod wires from my ears. I'd watched with fear, clenching my jaw, my desperate pleas falling from my lips as she'd stumbled in, ran over – the horrible mix of anger and alcohol brewing in her dark, emotionless eyes. Then her ear piercing scream…her fist.

I flinched at the memory and the pain blazed anew in the bruise.

Mike stared at me. He must have realized that there was nothing he could do or say to make me disclose any more about the incident, because I watched as his expression changed from anger, to sadness, then finally, resignation. He dropped his hand and nodded once, solemnly, before I turned and started walking.

Without looking, I knew he was following behind me. He always did. Despite being the annoying little sod he is, and the piece of work I was, we knew without saying it that we needed each other. I would never admit it to him though.

"C'mon," I said with a wave of my hand, forcing some emotion into my voice which right now sounded dead, even to me. I gestured to the path leading toward a shortcut that would take us to school quicker. "Let's go terrify us some first years."

~X~

The start of the school year is a bittersweet time for me. I hate it because I have to be there; pissed off, hormonal teens all forced to confront each other in a tiny classroom is never good. But on the other hand, the damn school was my haven, my safe place away from the house I was meant to call my home, the place that was meant to feel as though I belonged there, rather than a cold building that held nothing but memories of screaming, violence and cries of pain and sadness.

At school I was lucky. Dole out a punch here, a shove there, or steal something and threaten them to try anything, and people back off, giving you enough space to breathe. It wasn't surprising that I was left alone by more than half my year that knew me. But those who were new, or had transferred from another school, were usually naïve enough to think they had a chance at being my friend. Either they hadn't heard the rumours regarding me, or the impossible option, they didn't care and wanted to be my friend anyway, which I didn't see happening.

Seeing me with Mike, a couple of guys I knew from the year before approached me at dinner. They had a wide smile plastered on their dumb faces - almost as if the sight would ensure them a place at my side. Needless to say, their asses had barely brushed the seat next to me before I turned and growled. Their faces paled considerably, and I smiled inwardly as the lanky teens walked away awkwardly, looking back over their shoulders at me to glare, but not before I caught their sneering comments of '_freak'_ or '_bitch'_. If it hadn't been for Mike's presence and his strong hand holding me back, I knew I would have stalked over and handed their asses to them on a platter.

The only good thing about starting a new year, I found, was taunting the fresh meat as it filed in. The first years were fresh from junior school, hot off the school holidays, with hopes and dreams about what high school may be like for them. What's better than giving them a heavy dose of reality? It was hilarious watching them look around at the school and its students like little lost lambs, their eyes as wide as they go with fear and awe. The first years usually walked in groups, led by their form teacher and a student representative - the teacher's ass kisser.

As they passed us, the teacher out of earshot – talking to their little pet, or too busy to notice anything, Mike and I snuck up behind the group, shouting '_Boo_!', and proceeded to tell the first years of the imminent swirlies, wedgies, or random chases around the school if they lingered around the grounds after the bell had gone they'd be expecting. If I'd thought their little frightened faces had pleased me before, seeing the fear settle in them after spinning our colourfully embellished tales of high school life for the next five years was priceless. I was sure after watching them leave that some looked so scared they were shaking. Some part of me knew it was cruel, but it was a strange tradition, handed down by the last years to the firsts. I had it done to me, and being a senior student, the responsibility fell to me. It had to be done.

After having our fun, Mike and I found our new classes. Being friendlier than me, Mike made a few acquaintances with other students, new and old, where I happily settled my feet on the desk to rock out to my iPod. I listened to whatever came on the radio as I switched to it, tired of my own music. Listening to your favourite songs too many times pretty much fucks up the whole enjoying part of it. I was fine for a while. Relaxed and blissfully ignorant to the people around me. That's when it came on.

"…_he's done it again! Omega Kid has done it again! This time he's taken down the gang that's been terrorizing the streets of London. We tried to get an exclusive interview with the masked avenger, but before we could, as always, he disappeared be-,"_

I sighed and pulled the ear pieces out, refusing to hear anymore. "Stupid fuckin' super-zeroes…" I muttered bitterly.

This guy, this _pansy_ in a tight ass spandex costume, has been on almost every radio station and news report for the past few months. When it was safe for me to go home and watch TV, the only channels we have had reports of this fucking kid running around thinking he could save the day. I didn't get what all the hype was about. I'd first heard about _Omega Kid_ when he'd taken down some teenager called Jason, after weeks of reports of him being seen running around the streets in a strange costume. Wanting to stay out of the whole news bit about him, I ignored it all. But then I'd unintentionally heard about him again.

I'd been one late afternoon on my way back home from hanging out at the Wreck on my own. I'd walked by some random person's house. They'd had their window cracked open as far as it would go, their TV almost on full blast. After hearing something about breaking news and gasps, I decided to sneak a peek. They had been too busy watching the news report to notice me. This _Omega Kid_ had been stuck in a bank. The picture the screen showed was some lanky kid in a costume, his mask still covering his face, but blood soaked him in patches across his body.

Now, I'm not a _complete_ bitch – I do care about other human beings, so I admit that seeing this poor, deluded kid get the shit kicked out of him and his identity almost revealed in front of a nationwide audience did conjure up some feelings of sympathy. But it also stirred up anger.

After the news of some dude in America wanting to be a real life super hero, and naming himself nothing else other than _Kick-Ass_, copy cats had started popping up everywhere. It was like giving them permission to fulfil their most desired death wish. Suddenly, the deluded were given a free pass to squeeze into the tightest costume they could find and pretty much walk into danger freely, or jump off a building. It was only when reports of wanna-be heroes started turning up dead that the police finally stepped in to say, "_Enough._"

Okay, sure, the streets of London aren't exactly a fluffy, safety paradise, but there are worse places in the world. We weren't in dire need of crazy people claiming to be the next _Batman_. We just needed the police to get up off their collective asses, and put more officers out there. Right? That should be enough.

"Lemme guess," Mike said when he saw me frowning at my earphones. He pretended to stroke his non-existent beard and sat on the corner of my desk. "From the look on your face, either Arsenal was playing and just lost, or they're talking about _Omega Kid_ again," he guessed.

I clicked my fingers and pointed at him at the mention of the _Kid_, quirking an eyebrow. "Got it!" I glared at the iPod and turned it off. "It's like he's on everything lately, all these pretenders are. It's ridiculous."

Mike shrugged. "Why?"

I froze to look at him. "You did not just say that?" He looked back at me expectantly, his eyebrows lifted, as though he waited me to elaborate.

I sat up straight, dropping my feet to the floor. "C'mon, Mike, think about it. These people are going around thinking they're fighting crime and saving the day, when all they are really doing is endangering themselves and others. How many died last year trying to copy …um, what's-his-name…ah, _Red Mist_, was it? And then there's the matter of the property damage they caused in the process. Some of them have made more trouble, making it harder for the police to do their job, than got rid of it."

"Careful, Angel. You almost sound as if you care," Mike teased.

"Screw you, Mike! I don't care if these thickheads wanna go out and get themselves killed. I just wish that, if they have a death wish, they go somewhere private and do it. Remember _Eagle Eye_?" I glanced up at him and smirked darkly.

I knew he remembered when he rubbed a hand down his face and chuckled, shaking his head. "I think he was an exception, Angel."

"They were still scraping him off the side of the street days after he thought he could fly."

"_Eagle Eye_ wasn't exactly a smart cookie."

"He was a fucking idiot," I agreed, remembering hearing about it on the news the night he died. The fact that he'd died wasn't what bothered me so much, or even that he'd tried to be a hero. It was that he'd jumped off a building near a playground. His wings hadn't opened and he'd pretty much just plummeted to his death, right in front of the eyes of impressionable under-fives. "Dad would be spinning in his grave if he knew what these idiots have done to the system."

Mike looked up at me then, an unreadable look in his eyes. "What would _you_ do?"

I glanced up at him, confused. "What do you mean?"

Mike slid down into the chair beside me, scooting close enough so that I could hear him when he lowered his voice. "Think about it, Angel. If you had the chance to change everything, would you? Would you take these heroes off the streets even when, statistically, they've helped save more people when assisting the force this year, than what the force has alone? Could you do that? These people, deluded and crazy as they may be to you, can get into places that the police can't. They can use the weapons that the police can't because the law prohibits them. They have no limitations, they can help by going and doing what the police aren't allowed to do."

I watched him as he spoke about these super heroes. His face took on a hint of seriousness, though his ever present smile had remained, as if the topic of conversation excited him. He practically buzzed with it, and it took everything within me not to smack him upside the head and sigh at him for him being so blind.

But some of what he said did make me think. If I could change things, would I? Would I take down all the super heroes, forcing them back into hiding? I couldn't answer that. I had no idea what would possess them to take the position in the first place, so I found it hard to get inside the minds of those that posed as them, the pretenders. But then, what would happen to all the super villains that subsequently came out of the woodwork as a result of people playing serious dress up to take the law into their own hands? It was doubtful, considering the heroes had already made their debut.

When I didn't say anything, Mike nudged me until I looked at him. His brown eyes sparkled as they caught the sunlight trickling in through blinds. "Well? What about it, Angel. Wouldn't you want someone to come along and save you? Sweep you off your feet and take you away somewhere you can be happy? Somewhere where a home means somewhere you can sleep safe and sound and not have to worry, constantly looking over your shoulder, and waiting? Or would you join them to try and help others?"

I closed my eyes, feeling the soft brush of his fingertips as he gently traced the outside of the bruise under my eyes. "It sounds like a nice dream, Mike," I opened my eyes to find him staring intently at my face. I could almost hear his insistent thoughts, begging me to listen. But, being the realist out of the both of us, I turned away, closing down the images his words had invented in my mind. "But it's time to wake up."

~X~

I wrapped my arms tighter around myself as a chilly gust of wind hammered through me; the cold pierced through my clothes, sinking into my bones, freezing them. The blazer did fuck all to protect me against the cold as I lifted the collar to cover my face and neck. My nose felt as though it was going to freeze off. Even my knees shook, as if they were in danger of falling off. It didn't help that I'd stupidly decided to wear a skirt for school. But it didn't matter. At least I could handle the abuse from the weather.

I don't know how long I stayed outside staring up at the house. During the day, the building looked more like a prison than a home. The bottom window was bordered up – the result of a brick through the window when a gang ripped through the streets. The only thing I was thankful of was that the ones that attacked our street hadn't used guns. We were still waiting on the council to come around and fix it, but it was like trying to get an appointment at a Doctor's surgery. They were taking their sweet ass time, and that was after a torrent of questions they attacked us with. The garden looked no prettier than the house itself. My mother and I live on a rough street, and just like everybody else's garden on the street, they were used as dumping grounds for everybody else's rubbish and crap. There was a busted portable TV in ours; the screen smashed in and the frame covered in fuck knows what, but it wasn't a pleasant colour. The lawn was patchy, and a yellow tinted green grass at best.

Now that it was night, the house took on an eerie quality, reminding me of all the childhood trips I'd taken with my dad to the funfairs, travelling around on the _Ghost Train_, or moving through the _Haunted Mansions_. At least with them, I always knew I'd come out safe and sound, held in the safety of my ultimate protector's arms. After he died, the house always seemed empty, as though mum wasn't in there, waiting for me to come back. But she always was. I never knew what state she was in when I came back. Sometimes she was so pissed that she couldn't remember her own name. They were better, because she'd always black out and stay asleep long enough for me to get some rest. When she wasn't, when her thoughts were still lucid enough and she recognized me that was when I had to leave. It was a gamble. I would have left long ago, if I hadn't promised my dad before he died that I'd look after her, or if I had somewhere else to go.

I unlocked the door and stepped in. The wind howled behind me, whistling though the holes in the wooden fencing nearby, until I closed the door, shutting out the sound. The silence was deafening. My hesitant footsteps echoed, my heels clicking against the linoleum flooring in the dark kitchen.

"Mum?" I called out quietly.

There was no answer.

I released a sigh of relief and quickened my pace, moving into the living room . Sure enough, I found her exactly where I thought I would; lounging into the sofa, her fingers curled loosely around a half empty can of lager in her sleep. I cringed. Dropping my bag, I looped her arm around my shoulders, my hand holding hers, and my other arm around her waist. Aside from the occasional grunt, she was unresponsive as I moved her up to her room. She flopped onto her bed like a child, vulnerable and dependant. It was at times like this, looking down at her as she curled into a ball on her bed, as if she was trying to hold herself together, that I found that I couldn't hate her. There was only pity in the way she had let herself get so lost. It was as if there was no trace of the caring woman I'd known, the woman that had been my mother.

As I lay in bed, my curtains open so I could watch the rain as it trickled in rivulets against the window panes, made visible in contrast by the orange glow of the streetlamps, and my iPod playing the radio as background noise, my thoughts were occupied by Mike's words. I hadn't told him so, but what he had said stuck with me all day, whether at the forefront, or at the back of my mind, teasing and pulling at my conscious, demanding attention. Invisible, but still there – like my mum. His talk of heroes and the need for them got the cogs of my brain working. If I was being honest with myself, deep down I had a tiny bit of respect for some of them, especially those that actually seemed to manage to be doing something useful.

The name _Omega Kid_ whirred through my thoughts. That's when I noticed they were talking about him again on the radio. I lifted the earpiece and listened as they sung his praise, commenting about his past involvement in fighting some gang. I had to admit. After hearing about it, and seeing the clips of him caught on tape, I knew he had to have some cajones to go up against a gang like that. It was splashed all over the papers. He seemed to be making a name for himself as a hero.

I turned over and saw the picture of the only true life hero I had ever known. I kissed my fingertip and extended my arm across the bed, touching it to the frame holding the photograph of a handsome young man dressed in his police officer's uniform, wearing his cap, his badge and a proud smile.

"Love you, dad," I murmured sleepily, drifting off to the sound of the rain and dreaming of what life would be like to be swept away into another life by a hero in spandex.

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_Thank you for reading. Don't forget to leave a review! PM me if there are any spelling/grammatical errors that I haven't caught :)_


	2. Murder

The vibrations were what woke me. Not wanting to wake mum up, I'd set my phone alarm to vibrate the night before. It was either that or wake her and have to deal with her, and I didn't need her screaming at me, hung-over, so early in the morning. I yawned and pulled my phone out from under the pillow to turn it off. The side of my face screamed out in pain when I knocked it with my hand. I had no idea how it looked now, but the fucker felt sore.

I slid my feet out from under the quilt and stumbled sleepily over to the vanity mirror. I groaned when I saw it and fell heavily onto the stool.

_Ah…shit…_

There was no wonder Mike had looked so pissy yesterday. The bruise was not as close to my eye as I'd originally thought, but it was definitely high enough to be noticeable. The purple half-moon arched along my cheekbone, already starting to yellow along the edge. I brushed the bruise softly with my fingertips, moving my head slightly to get a better view.

It was always like this, had been since dad died. In the past some of the bruises and cuts had been small enough that nobody would notice, even Mike. But this wasn't one of those times. All I could do was slap on a bag of peas and hope the sucker went down. I had thought, being as drunk as she had that she hadn't hit me hard enough to leave behind any evidence, but I'd thought wrong. This one look almost like she would have broken the skin if she'd applied a little more pressure, or hadn't stumbled constantly on her way over to me. I was just glad that I wouldn't get a scar.

Sighing, I pushed the mirror away, standing from the stool.

She hadn't had so much of a drinking problem before when dad was still alive. We'd managed: got her help, made her cut down and supported her when she attended _Alcoholics Anonymous_ meetings. It hadn't been too bad. In fact, things couldn't have been better for that short time she was on the program. It had almost felt surreal. For a short time, I had my mum back the way she had been before her work had forced her to drink. The path to recovery had been a bumpy one; the road had been a long and arduous, and though she'd found it hard, she'd been recovering.

For a while, we had been a family. In between breaks from work, dad had taken us out places I'd never been before, or only heard about from other kids at school. As a reward for mum's efforts to get off the drink, and ours helping her, dad took us to the seaside to spend time together. It had been the only time I could remember being happy. We'd been together, all three of us. It had been the only time that I'd felt part of a family.

His death had dealt a heavy blow to us all. The strong and kind man I'd known, looked up to all my life and had hoped to follow, had been killed on duty. Receiving the news at school had been the worst. My form tutor had looked all over the school, and ultimately found me before I left the premises for dinner. Mike had been with me at the time and I knew, even now, that if it hadn't been for him being there, I would have just passed out from the revelation. He'd held my hand in the reception as we'd waited for my uncle to pick me up. At first I hadn't been able to believe it, I couldn't. My whole body, as well as my mind, had felt frozen – like the muscles in my body had completely ceased up, threatening to never move again. I remembered not being able to breathe as Mike and my uncle led me up to the house. The police had been there talking with other members of the family. Funnily enough during the whole ordeal, my mind wandered off to think about how my mother would take the news, because even after all the shit we'd been through to help her, I didn't want her reverting back to the way she'd been. But, as I knew she would, alcohol had been the first thing she'd turned to instead of the comfort of her family, and I fucking hated her for it.

Going to the funeral had been the hardest thing I've ever had to do. I hadn't wanted to believe that he had died at all, even when the time for the funeral came. It had only been when I'd forced myself to look and saw him lying there, his face absent of the trademark smile he'd used on everyone, that I'd been forced to face the truth. He was dead and he wasn't coming back. Looking down at him in that coffin had almost killed me. Seeing him that way, lying unresponsive in his uniform had made my blood turn to ice and had felt like the end of my own life.

The instant I'd leant over the coffin to press a kiss against his cold forehead, I'd muttered a quiet goodbye, silently vowing to fulfil the promise he'd made me swear. I'd promised to look after mum if anything ever happened to him. Of course I had; I would have promised to find a way to fly to the moon if he'd ever made me. Dad's kindness and easy going nature had endeared him to everyone he'd ever met. There was no way I was going to turn down a promise, especially when it had been his last one

After the funeral had ended, and everybody had left to go back home, mum lost herself again, throwing away months of effort we had put in to save her from slowly drinking herself to death. Trying to stop her had left me with a black eye and a loose tooth that night. I remembered everything I'd watched my dad do to stop her when she got into these rages, but unlike him, I had only been fifteen and nowhere near as strong. Attempting to wrench the bottle away from her had resulted in more injuries. Realizing that I couldn't have done any more for her, I left to go to bed. That had been the last time I remember crying. Knowing that it wouldn't help, I refused to let myself cry over her. Not when she didn't want to be saved.

It was still like that between us. I'd tried to get her professional help, but nobody would answer. Even the family were as helpful as a snowball in hell. After dad died, they must have felt that they had no reason to come around anymore. I knew none of them liked her; they blamed her for his emotional death, claiming that she'd killed him long before he'd died. I'd heard them constantly bitch about mum behind her back, cursing dad for ever marrying her in the first place, and what was sad – sometimes, I agreed with them. I only wished I had a way out. Now, with dad gone, we were up to our eyeballs in debt, and the benefit money we barely scraped by on was being consumed in the shape of bottles of vodka, or a crate of beer a night.

I brushed my teeth and spat the toothpaste out into the sink, staring bitterly at the blonde girl looking back at me. Her light blue eyes looked dead, absent the life everyone bragged about seeing in their own. The only thing that showed some sign of life was the dark bruise under her eye, and the sardonic smile that twisted her lips. I arched an eyebrow in amusement as I looked at myself. Well, at least I looked as dead as I felt inside. Never being one for covering my face with toxic crap, I decided to leave my face absent of make-up – why bother covering up the bruise? Everyone expected me to get them. I wasn't exactly Miss Nice at school. I yanked a brush through my hair and slinked out of the house with my bag quietly before mum woke up.

I started down the street, but it wasn't long before my mobile started buzzing away in my pocket. I wrenched it out, too tired already to deal with him. "_What_?" I snapped into the receiver.

"_Fuck me, Angel! What have I done so early in the morning to deserve that?"_ he teased.

I kneaded my forehead and sighed. _Shit, this lad really pushes it_. "What do you want, Mike?" I said.

"_That's a bit better,"_ he said approvingly. There was a noticeable pause before he asked, _"Are you outside?"_

"Yeah, I'm on my way to the Wreck."

"_You know, you're the only one that can leave the house at-,"_ -a pause- "_Seven o'clock, and still manage to turn up late for school." _I could almost imagine him shaking his head at me at the other end of the phone with that fucking smile on his face.

"So?"

"_It's a bit early ain't it?"_

"So_ fucking _what? I don't tell you when to do this and that!" I moaned down the phone and closed my eyes. "Sorry, I didn't…I didn't mean that, Mike. I just, I put her to bed again last night." I started walking again. I paused to look both ways and crossed the road. It still never failed to surprise me how early some people get up to go to work in the morning. "At least I didn't have to give her another bloody bath. I swear it's like looking after a baby."

Mike's voice sounded different when he spoke again, laced with concern and all teasing gone. _"Are you alright?"_

"I'm fine. She'd already passed out when I got home last night. She was still out this morning when I left."

He heaved a heavy sigh into the phone. "_Emma_," he started. I knew whenever he started sentence with my proper name that it was going to be heavy and depressing, and most likely involving my mum as the topic of conversation

"Can you just not go there, Mike, please?" I said. I reached into my blazer pocket and pulled out a box of cigs and my lighter. Sparking one up, I blew out the smoke. "It's depressing enough living with her. I don't need to be reminded of-,"

"You called for a taxi?" a voice said.

I frowned and looked over my shoulder to see a black car trailing along quietly behind me, a middle aged man hanging his head out of his window, hands on the wheel. He looked to be around forty. His jaw was covered in a five o'clock shadow and serious bags under his shifty eyes.

"What?" I said when I realized he was talking to me. "No, I didn't order any taxi."

"_Angel? Who's that?"_ Mike asked in my ear.

"You sure?" the man insisted. His voice was deep, his accent native to the lower part of the hemisphere. "I'm sure you ordered a taxi,"

"Oh, really?" I challenged. He slowed the car when I paused to turn and face him, but kept the engine running. It purred away under the bonnet as he watched me. I kept my phone close to my ear, Mike still on the line. "I just said no."

He smiled up at me. "Don't tell me a pretty girl like you didn't order a taxi. I was called out here, and you're the only one out here on the street. And so early in the morning too," he added. "Do you need a ride anywhere?"

I glanced around quickly and realized he was right about the empty street. With the exception of him, I was the only one out here. Looking back at the car I saw no local taxi firm logo that I knew of. It was unmarked, absent of any evidence that it might be a taxi at all. I looked back and recognized with worry, the leering glint in his eyes as they wandered up and down my bare legs, exposed by my school skirt.

_Fuck…fuck…fuck! He's probably a pervert! _I screamed inside.

I shook my head with a little more vigour, hoping he'd just fuck off and leave me alone and wouldn't see the sudden fear I felt. "Look, mate, I didn't call for a damn taxi. You've got me confused for someone else, alright?" I said, forcing my voice to stay calm.

The smile fell from his face and I felt a twinge of dread swirl in my belly. "I don't think I like your tone," he said carefully.

I expected him to leave, either realizing that he had the wrong person - if he even was a real taxi, or knew that I wasn't as naïve as he thought I was. But he just stayed there, watching me closely, a frown deepening the lines along his forehead as he thought.

"_Angel?"_ Mike's voice chatted away, still on the phone.

"Mike?" I said. I realized I'd forgotten he was still on the phone. An idea flickered in my head and I faced the man more fully, making sure to show the phone. "Oh, nothing, Mike. I'm just talking to some old dude, a stranger, that's asking me if I want a ride," I said, raising my voice so both could hear.

The man's eyes widened upon seeing the phone, but he didn't leave. "It that your boyfriend?" he asked.

I decided to go with it. Perhaps it would scare him off? "Yeah, it's my boyfriend, and he's just waiting for me around the corner."

"You're lying," the man accused. He sat up a little straighter, drifting the car closer to the path where I stood.

My heart sped up and I froze a little at his advance. _Quick! Remember what dad taught you!_ I ordered myself. Memories of conversations with dad, me listening as he taught me how to defend myself about strangers, came to me. He'd taught me what to do if approached by a stranger. _Don't fight them, Emma. Don't agitate them. Just approach an authority figure and tell them about the stranger. Or, if there is no one around, discreetly call someone and mention any features that would get them spotted_…dad's disjointed voice told me.

I did what I remembered; taking note of the man's more distinguishing features, and remembered the more prominent parts of him such as skin colour, eye colour, hair type.

"I have a rape alarm!" I warned him as I backed away slowly.

"_Angel? What the fuck is going on_?!" Mike demanded angrily in my ear.

The man sneered, but he didn't leave.

_Fuck it!_ "Mike? There's a guy in a black Ford Escort, and he's going to attack me. He's a white male – looks to be about early forties. He's got a tattoo on his left arm of a British bulldog-." I rushed out down the phone to Mike.

The man swallowed noticeably and forced his car into drive, speeding off down the street, but not before throwing me dark look that would have killed, if looks _could_ kill. I watched as the car veered around a corner. The sound of tires screeching against the tarmac announced his speed to the whole street; it echoed down the empty road like a scream ricocheting off the houses. I couldn't breathe. My chest felt constricted and my throat tight. I didn't realize I was panting like an idiot until I heard Mike's voice shouting in my ear.

"_Angel?"_ he said. _"Emma? Tell me what the _fuck_ is going on right now! What's this about a_ _rape alarm_?!"

~X~

"Bloody hell, Emma! You could have gotten yourself killed! What the fuck were you thinking?" Mike continued his rant as he escorted me to my next class.

After the incident, I went straight to his house. Though the man had sped off, his presence still lingered like an ominous shadow, one I couldn't shake. I tried to reassure myself that he was gone, but it was as if I could feel his eyes pressing into my neck, watching me, or leering at my legs again as he had. Suddenly, walking to the Wreck to hang out by myself until school started hadn't seemed like such a good idea anymore. Instead, I'd turned around and, like he was still around, ran my ass off to Mike's house.

As soon as I'd gotten there, he'd thrown open the door and proceeded to gush a stream of questions my way. They all consisted parts of the conversation he'd picked up between me and the driver, and all started with "_What the fuck!_" I told him everything that happened, and told him what the driver looked like, just in case.

He kept an annoyingly close eye on me at school, shadowing me everywhere as if I was going to be attacked at any moment. Now that the driver was gone and I was back at school, it was as if it never happened. Some part of me couldn't believe that it had. To be sure that it wouldn't happen again, or at least warn others of the pervert, I called the police and reported the instance to them. After taking my statement, my name and address, they promised to get in touch if they heard anything and hung up. There was nothing else that I could do after that, and it annoyed me knowing that even though I'd told them everything I could, there was always a chance he'd get away with it.

Surprisingly, I found myself understanding those that dressed up to take the law into their own hands. Even Mike's words from yesterday echoed in the back of my mind. There was only so much that the police could do, what with being spread out so thinly, and with being in the recession we were in. Thinking about it, it was a wonder they could catch anyone they were after.

During dinner break, instead of eating, I disappeared off into the library to read up on some of the more successful heroes to come out after _Kick-Ass_ debuted in America. There was only a few, and even fewer that I've even heard of. Of course there was _Kick-Ass_ who started off the whole hype, and then there was some guy called _Big Daddy_, though he'd hadn't been heard from in months. Pictures of him were littered across websites, along with a pint-sized hero named, _Hit Girl_.

My initial instinct was to worry and think, "_Holy shit! How fucking old is she?!"_ But when I went on to _YouTube_, and searched for her, videos of the purple haired girl in action left me staring open-mouthed at the screen in wonderment and disbelief. I couldn't believe it. She flew around the room of some ware house, kicking ass and firing guns. I think that was when I stopped worrying about her and clicked on to a few more.

I'd scrolled down the names, checking on them afterwards; watching videos or looking up information on them. Some people had gone so far as to create a website that had the names of the heroes that were still '_active'_. I did notice, as I scrolled down of one particular website, that _Omega Kid_ seemed to be the hot stuff at the moment with them. It seemed to be some kind of homemade web page; it looked kinda amateur and cheaply made, but this '_Comic City'_ seemed to like him a lot. The blue and silver clad figure was on almost every piece of merchandise they were selling; mugs, t-shirts, caps. There was even a tab that mentioned the oncoming possibility of a comic based on him.

I'd been so engrossed in my _research_ that I hadn't noticed Mike sneak up behind me, pissed off that I'd slipped away from him so easily. I'd seen his face. He'd looked ready to give me what for. When he'd caught sight of the website I was on, however, a grin stretched across his face. I panicked and clicked away, turning off the computer quickly as if I'd been caught watching porn at school by a teacher.

He'd teased me about it as we walked out of the library block, but his original reason for coming to find me caught up with him and he remembered why he was angry with me. He still waited for me to answer his question, but I was still too shocked that it had happened at all to answer him straight away.

"What the hell do you want me to say?" I finally answered.

Mike glared at me. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe, _'I'm sorry, Mike. I promise not to leave the house at stupid o'clock in the morning and nearly get myself killed again.'_ Something along those lines," he grumbled.

I looked up at him out the corner of my eyes and smiled. "Careful, Mike. You almost sound as if you care," I teased, using his words from yesterday.

I noticed his lip twitch a little; he was fighting not to smile. He almost would have managed a straight face if he'd not looked over at me and caught me waggling my eyebrows. "About you?" he replied. He shoved me away playfully, his eyes shining with amusement. "_As if_!"

"Fuck you, Mike," I laughed.

"In your dreams, Angel." He winked and reached out to tousle my hair. But before I could hit him or complain, he turned and jumped over the five foot ledge easily, landing with a loud '_oof_!', and cut across the field to run off toward the gym, leaving me behind.

Muttering darkly, I stepped up to the ledge and jumped off. My long hair whipped into my face as I fell, and my skirt flapped around my waist. As I lifted my hand to keep it down, my feet hit the ground hard. The impact knocked the air out of me and sent tremors of shock up my legs, but I recovered quickly and dashed after him.

Seeing me catch up, Mike's laughed; the musical sound floated on the air and reached my ears, taunting me. He grinned, flashing his straight pearly whites, before he pushed harder against the ground. His long legs ate up the distance in no time at all, and he got there first. He lounged against the wall looking completely relaxed and waited smugly while I dragged my sorry ass up to him. He looked at his wrist at the non-existent watch and clucked his tongue, shaking his head with mock disappointment.

"My, my, my, Angel. Can you believe it took you _ten minutes_ to get here?" he teased.

I rested my back against the wall. "Yeah…right," I panted, throwing him a sidelong glare. I pointed at him. "You….you _cheated_."

His eyebrows shot into his hairline, shocked at the accusation. "How the hell do you cheat at running?" he asked. He turned the handle and the door swung inward. As soon as we stepped inside the building, the mixed smell of chlorine, cleaning products, moisture and sweat assaulted my nose and I cringed. The gym was a disgusting place. Mike looked to me, waiting.

"I don't know…how you did it," I wheezed. _Shit I'm out of shape_, I cursed. I leant forward when my side burned and tightened with a stitch. I rested my hands on my knees and swallowed to get rid of the raw dryness in my throat. "But you did."

"Are you alright?" He smirked as he crouched in front of me, looking as shameless as he possibly could.

"I think I can taste my lungs!" I complained breathlessly.

~X~

"Hey, it's my turn!"

I didn't bother looking at the girl behind me as she whined. I could feel her frosty glare. She'd been shooting me daggers all lesson, and quite frankly, I was getting bored of it. Seeing that it had been her turn next, I stepped in front. I could have confronted her to see what her problem was with me, but I decided to be childish and took her turn to piss her off. I was already having a bad day already, and her icy glares were doing nothing to make it any better.

"And now it's my turn," I mumbled.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" she griped.

I glanced over my shoulder to have a proper look at this girl who seemed to have the balls to start something. She was only a tiny thing – about five-four or something. She had mousy features, as if her face was focused on the centre, but she wasn't unattractive. Her big blue eyes glared up at me expectantly from behind her brown bangs. I racked my brains, but I couldn't remember seeing her anywhere before. She must have been new, bless her. I decided to be nice.

"If you knew what was good for you, you'd back off, Shorty," I warned lazily.

Her face reddened at my words and I smirked. She pointed threateningly at me. "Don't call me Shorty!"

"Why not…_Shorty_?"

She looked like she was going to explode where she stood. It was nothing if not amusing to watch the girl ball her hands into her fists as she glared up at me. I narrowed my own eyes, staring at her intently, daring her to make the first move. Even if she didn't know who I was, surely she had the right mind not to start something with me? Luckily for her, another girl sidled up next to her, casting a wary glance my way before talking behind her hand into Shorty's ear. I don't know what she said to her, but Shorty's face paled a little and she stepped away from me cautiously. Satisfied, I grinned and turned back.

The girl said nothing more to me for the rest of the lesson. I went on, walking along the balance beam until I got to the end. The whole way across, I felt the weight of Shorty's gaze press against me. Sure enough, as I looked up discreetly from under my eyelashes, I saw her watching me with a strange mixture of hatred and curiosity in her gaze.

Bored and just plain knackered from the whole lesson, I moved to sit on the end of one of the benches that lined the gym hall. I wasn't alone. I looked up when the bench shook slightly, watching as the girls at the other end shuffled further away from me, fear in their eyes.

I sighed. I couldn't be bothered with this. I was already tired from the mad dash before class, and the almost heart attack this morning. Gymnastics just seemed to be the cut-off point for me. Deciding that I was done, I reached into my bag and pulled out my phone. After making sure that the teacher wasn't looking, I clicked onto a few apps, checked my _Facebook_ and even played a round of _Angry Birds_ for good measure. I was about to put it back when my news app popped up with a new notification. I clicked onto it and my whole body went cold.

_Breaking News: Girl, 15, found stabbed to death after abduction early this morning._

I would have scanned over it as I usually did bad news, but there was something about this article that I couldn't ignore. It drew my eye and forced me to read on.

_Alice Smith, 15, had been on her way to school early this morning when she was reported abducted by a witness who had been passing by during the incident. The witness reported a middle aged man in a black Ford Escort forcibly pushing Alice into his car before driving away. It is suggested that the assailant used a story to draw the teen to his car, posing as a Taxi Driver to lure her. The man has not been identified and is still at large, but extreme caution has been advised, as he is thought to be part of a group consisting of similar cases reported in the past weeks._

My stomach rolled. The coldness washed over me; my fingers felt numb and struggled to curl as the dropped the phone back into my bag. I ignored the questioning looks and ran out of the gym hall, straight into the cloakroom. Grabbing my clothes and changing faster than I can ever remember, I dashed out of the gym, back over to the library. All the way back all I could think was, _What the fuck? That could have been me!_ I knew I had been close, but I didn't know just _how_ close.

I knew there had been something wrong when I'd first seen that there wasn't an identification plate on the car's license at all. Every taxi firm gives one to identify the car as one of their own. The car had nothing of the sort on it. There was also the matter of the man himself. Just thinking about his leering dark eyes sent shivers down my spine.

I knew it wouldn't take long before the story hit the school tomorrow and the rumours would start flying around, completely exaggerating what really happened. But I knew the truth. The abduction and murder had been local; I recognized the name of the girl as a student at my school, but what worried me more was that he hadn't been caught; nobody knew who he was, and I'd pissed him off this morning.

* * *

_Same disclaimers apply. Thank you for reading. Don't forget to review if you have the time :D_


	3. Trouble

"Angel?"

I finally blinked after staring at the screen for the best part of half an hour. It wasn't like I'd been reading. The words had grown fuzzy back when I'd allowed my mind to wander. My thoughts constantly drifted back to this morning. _That freak. That fucking murdering freak!_ I could have done something. If I'd rang the police straight away, told them more, maybe they would have been able to stop him before he preyed on another. Maybe, if I'd been quicker, would Alice still be alive? Would it have even made a difference?

I'd made Mike walk closely with me when the final bell rang. Though I was sure the murderer was in hiding, I constantly felt his gaze on me, as though he was watching - taunting me from the shadows. After the morning I'd had, Mike had been quick to agree and even suggested that we go to his house to hide out for a bit. While he occupied his time reading his comics or stealing his brother's cans of _Coke_ from the mini fridge in his room, I stole his laptop away and sat with it on my lap, reading up on the murder.

My thoughts flew back to the sicko this morning. I wanted to hurt him, to deal the same pain he'd dealt her and then double it. No one deserved to be treated the way Alice had. Barely a couple of hours after I'd first read it on my phone, the internet had blown up with the story. Soon everyone on fucking _Facebook_ knew of the murder, all sending their condolences and best wishes to the family. I don't know what would be worse: having strangers who I'd never met before, yet possibly knew of the murder of my own daughter before me, tell me how sorry they were. Or wanting to mourn in private, but was constantly reminded of it, seeing the comments made by others on a social networking site.

The news site had been tame, only saying that she'd been stabbed to death. It had failed to mention that she'd been stabbed _everywhere_, or that she'd had letters carved into her skin like a word jumble puzzle. It was sick. Though she was already dead, I hoped vehemently that she'd died quickly. I know I wouldn't have wanted to be alive while they carved letters into me as casually as drawing lines in the sand with a twig. The thought of it made my skin crawl and my stomach roll sickly.

"Huh?" I said dumbly, realizing Mike had asked me a question.

He smiled at me. "Maybe you should take a break from reading the screen? Your eyes might turn square."

"Very funny, but I didn't believe it when dad told me. I'm not going to believe you either."

"Found anything new? Anybody said anything else?" he asked sitting down next to me, cracking open another can.

I shook my head, unable to tear my eyes away from the laptop screen. "No, it just talks about Alice and what's happened, and how they feel for the family." I sighed and scrolled down to reread the latest on her murder.

"Whoa, wait a minute!" Mike held out his hand. He pointed to the screen. "What's this?"

I squinted at the part he looked at. "News of the murder got leaked. That's the weapon they're guessing was used to kill her. It's a-," I paused to read the name under the image. "A '_Scimitar Spike'_. Apparently they've already matched it to the wounds. That and the witness had seen him waving it when he'd abducted her. I'm guessing the letters were probably done with the same knife too."

"Jesus…" he breathed. He sat back and shook his head with remorse. "Sick bastard. What did she ever do to them?"

I pushed the laptop away and moved to rest my back against the headboard with Mike. The whole thing was making me feel sick. Lingering on it forced images of the sick man and reminded me of how close I had come to suffering the same fate. "Fuck knows. They're just twisted. They don't need a reason to be that way, they just _are_." I stole the can from Mike's hand and took a generous pull before giving it back. "I don't understand the letters thing."

"What do you mean?" he asked. He lifted the can near his ear and shook it to hear how much I'd left him.

"The letters…the one's that Alice had carved into her skin? Why would they do that? Why would they go to the trouble of writing on her skin like that with a knife?"

"Maybe they don't need a reason." I looked at him. "You said it yourself, Angel, they're twisted."

"Yeah," I agreed. I narrowed my eyes as looked over at the laptop to scan the page for any news on the identity of the murderer. "But still, it's a bit strange,"

~X~

I closed the door quietly behind me when I got home.

I'd stayed with Mike for the rest of the day until it had started to get dark out. When it had, he'd joined me in a walk home. I wasn't some frightened little puppy, don't get me wrong, and the dark didn't bother me either. But with this psycho on the loose, I felt the need for his presence. I hadn't said so, but he'd taken my lack of response to his offer as silent admission, and he'd walked me home. I would never admit to him that I was scared, and he never asked; Mike knew how hard it was for me to express myself. I would never openly admit I was afraid. He was respectable enough not to call me out on it.

We talked all the way back – about the killer, about this morning, about Alice. We just knew without having to say anything that it would be all over the school tomorrow. It would be the hot topic for a while. A student found murdered is unfortunately more exciting than doing school work. There was a morbid sense of curiosity that came with hearing about someone you knew had turned up dead. It gave gossipmongers something to talk and exaggerate about, and it distracted the teachers long enough for them to make preparations to pay their respects to their former student, and the family – making lessons pretty much moot. Nobody would be able to stay focused enough to do work.

I could tell this week was going to be a bitch.

Moving quietly through the kitchen I picked up the empty cans that littered the counters, and shoved them into the green recycle box under the breakfast bar. I might be a piece of work, but that didn't mean I didn't care about the environment.

My Mum's snores were audible, even over the hushed murmur of the TV as it played to itself in the far corner of the room. Resisting the urge to sigh, I went over and turned it off. I deposited my school bag on the floor, and moved to kneel by the sofa near my mother's head. Seeing her like this, dead to the world, I felt I could love her. It made it easier to pretend that she was just taking a nap, and any minute dad would come through the door to announce another seaside trip. But the pungent scent of alcohol on her breath was a wakeup call, dousing my daydreams and haunting echoes of the past.

Lifting a tentative hand to her face, I brushed the tendrils of her greasy blonde hair away, revealing her sunken eyes, and gaunt face. Her skin felt clammy against my own. She seemed not to be moving at first, but before I could let myself panic, I pressed two fingers against her neck and felt the pulse of her heartbeat there.

I froze as she moved in her sleep, turning onto her side so that she faced me more fully. Her dressing gown fell open, revealing the grimy t-shirt and pyjama trousers she wore underneath. Her laboured breathing continued and I knew she was still fast asleep. Satisfied that she was fine – all things considered – I moved to rise from my knees, pushing against the sofa arm. That was until I heard one word – a word that, when uttered, made my heart and my feet stop.

"_Tim_…"

I turned to look at my mother again, tilting my head curiously as I watched her. I don't know what shocked me more, that she'd said anything at all, or that I'd heard her say his name for the first time since he'd died.

I waited silently, wondering if she'd say it again. The sound of his name had made my heart race, but from shock or endearment, I couldn't decide. Just hearing her say dad's name made me feel like he was still alive. For a moment, the room had filled with the kind of warmth that he'd bring with him. I could almost see him smiling, and hear his cheerful voice again echoing from the kitchen as he walked in from work. But the longer I waited for her to say it again, the more I left myself open for disappointment. The warmth left again, as did his memory, and the house fell into cold darkness, leaving me hollow and my heart aching for the reassuring embrace of a loving father that would never come.

Taking one last look at my mother's prone form curled into the sofa, I threw a blanket over her, and left the room.

~X~

As I had suspected, the first thing I heard when I got to school the next day, was news of Alice's death. I heard it at every turn; people spoke about it as if they'd been there themselves, or they put a new spin on the story, making it gorier than it was. For example, I'd been walking to the dining hall when I overheard a small group of years eights chatting excitedly about it. Some mentioned what they'd heard, and some added that they'd heard rumours that she'd been decapitated, or the murderer had been a member of her family. But the most ridiculous part, the bit that had almost made me laugh if I hadn't been straining to keep a straight face, was that a couple of girls had spoken of the incident as if they had watched it all happen in person, and that he was after them next.

Some people say anything for attention.

Bored, and just plain tired of all the bullshit, I snuck off after my maths lesson to a quiet corner to have a cig. I followed the path leading up to the old English block at the other end of school. It was deemed a death trap. Not surprising seeing as it had been set fire to a few months ago. Some jackass had snuck onto the premises after dark and set fire to it. Apparently they'd thrown an amateur cocktail bomb through the window, and with it being filled with paper and computers, the block had gone up like a Christmas tree. It wasn't used anymore, so it became a hotspot for people like me who wanted to sneak away. I found it to be a prime spot away from the rest of school, a place where I could satisfy my vice in peace without the threat of exclusion for being caught smoking in the school grounds.

I leaned my head against the brick wall, tilting it back to release the sweet poison to the sky, and closed my eyes. I had no idea where Mike was. After yesterday morning, I decided not to leave the house so early, and he came to me instead so we could walk to school together.

I frowned when my ears picked up a strange sound. It sounded a little like moaning, but I couldn't be sure. Cracking open an eyelid, I looked around. There wasn't anyone nearby. So where the fuck was it coming from? I shrugged my bag strap further up my shoulder, and held my cig between my lips as I moved. I'd just made it around the corner when I saw them.

I wasn't too surprised that there was a couple fucking. It wouldn't be the first time I've accidentally walked in on a couple of students who couldn't wait till they got home. But, I was more surprised that I recognized them both. I would have left straight away before they noticed me, but as I watched him rutting the brunette – his hips keeping an eager pace, her legs wrapped around his waist, I felt my mouth curl into a mocking smile.

_Oh, he's gonna be in so much trouble…_

I leant my shoulder lazily against the wall, plucking the cigarette from my mouth, and cleared my throat conspicuously, but I doubted they heard me over the erotic moans that slipped from their mouths. They were too busy getting busy that they still hadn't noticed me yet. I kicked a pebble and it hit his foot, but it didn't seem to curb his enthusiasm any.

"_Ahem_?"

He moaned into her neck. "What did you say Anita?"

"I didn't say anything," she replied, and though her voice was thick with desire, I heard a hint of confusion.

I cleared my throat again, louder this time.

As if a bolt of electricity shot through them both, they jumped at the sound. I watched with amusement as both their heads snapped to me at the same time, their eyes widening and faces paling at my smile. I wiggled my fingers at them in a mock wave. "Aren't you married, _Mrs_ Lane? Or should I say, _Anita_?"

The expression on her face clearly screamed _Oh shit_! She pushed away from her lover, uncurling her legs from where they'd snaked around him, and dropped to the ground. She attempted to act casual, straightening out the wrinkles in her skirt; as though I hadn't just caught them fucking like bunnies.

"Emma?" Mrs Lane started. She cleared her throat and had the decency to look chagrined. "What you just saw-,"

"Don't tell me," I interrupted her. I took a long exaggerated drag of my cigarette and feigned ignorance. "Biology 101, right?" I grinned.

She frowned at my attitude. "Emma," she warned with authority in her voice.

"I don't think you're in a position to be using that tone with me at the moment, _Anita_."

I rubbed out my cig on the wall and looked over at the other teacher where he stood, tucking his shirt into his waistband, and zipped his fly. It was a shame that I knew him, and was forced to see him every week. If I wasn't so used to this kind of behaviour, I might have been shocked since he was the school counsellor, and my cousin. After my dad had died, my personal tutor had referred me to talk to him, because apparently, '_my destructive behaviour could be a result of latent anger following his death'_. Being forced to see my cousin every week hadn't help it any, and being made to promise that I wouldn't tell just made it worse.

He turned and faced me, raking a hand through his hair. "Em, please don't tell anyone, okay? I could lose my job over this!"

"Shoulda thought about that before you started fucking about, Derek," I paused to look over at Mrs Lane where she stood trying to make her hair presentable. "No pun intended."

He put his hands together as if in silent prayer, which I found ironic, since he was an atheist. I think after dad died, like the rest of us, no one felt they could believe in some unseen deity. Why take away one of the kindest human beings ever to walk the earth? What god would do that? "Em, please!" he begged. "I need this job. This was nothing – just a bit of fun, is all."

"_What_?"

Uh-oh

He turned to face Mrs Lane. "You're married!"

"But you said you loved me!" she replied, her face turning an angry shade of scarlet.

"Hey," Derek shrugged. "I did what I had to. Besides, we both knew this wasn't going to last, Baby."

"I was going to leave him, Derek!" she sputtered with disbelief.

"Then I feel sorry for him. If he knew that you were such an easy slut-,"

I watched, amazed, as Derek's head whipped back, thrown by the force of the slap across his face. He crouched holding a hand to his face as Mrs Lane stood over him, clenching her hand into a fist with barely contained fury, and looked at him as though her glare literally held the power to kill him. For a moment I actually became a little concerned, especially when her eyes bulged so far out of their sockets that I imagined them rolling out.

"You bastard! Don't you come near me again!" she spat.

She turned and stomped away, never looking back. Derek rose to his feet and glared at her retreating figure, his own face turning red – but from anger or the slap I couldn't tell. "Count on it, bitch!" he shouted at her and she flipped the birdie over her shoulder in response.

An awkward silence stretched out when it was just me and Derek left. He looked over at me and rolled his eyes. "Don't say a fucking word," he warned. He reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a cigarette, lighting it up to take a few drags before passing it over.

"_So_…my P.E. teacher then, huh?"

He rubbed a hand down his face. "Em, I swear I'll kick your ass."

I grinned at his tone and stayed silent to nurse my cig. I still couldn't understand why he got himself into these situations. Even when he was younger, he'd gained a bit of a reputation for being a bit of a Lothario. It was no wonder I never saw him without a woman hanging off him though, with his striking looks and youth on his side. He'd graduated young from university, so he was initially the youngest member of male staff in school at the moment. He was only five years older than me, but sometimes it was like he was a man-child, especially when I found out that he spent his first year on the job fucking himself halfway through the entire female teacher population. Surrounded by a staff that consisted mostly of new horny young teachers or desperate married women, there was no wonder. It didn't help that his dick ruled over reason, and had gotten him into more trouble than even _I_ would go looking for.

"It was a mistake. End of." He was quiet for a moment until he looked down at me. His thick eyebrows drew together in concern. "You won't say anything, will you?"

I looked into his hopeful blue eyes – a trait we shared – and decided to be good this time. His threats to kick my ass almost always came to fruition when I least expected it, and after something like this, I doubted it could be easily laughed off.

I pretended to zip my lips. "I won't say anything," I promised, and he sighed with relief. "If…"

"Here it comes," he moaned.

"C'mon, Derek! I don't wanna go to the stupid counselling sessions anymore. I'm fine!" I complained, resisting the urge to stomp my foot like a petulant child.

"As much as I would love to go one week where I don't have to see you or your dirty boots on my desk, it's not my decision to make, Em."

"But you're my counsellor," I pointed out. "Surely you can say something like, '_yeah, she's alright_,' and then sign me off, right?"

"I can't! I have to go through a whole system. Besides, even if I did that, you'd have to be seen by another to make sure that my assessment is correct and blah, blah, blah. If I was wrong, you'd _still_ have to go through more sessions, and I'd end up going through more training." He straightened out his tie and ran a hand through his short messy brown hair in a classroom window. He turned to me, his arms away from his sides in presentation. "How do I look?"

"Like a whore," I responded.

"Great." He grinned and pushed the door open leading to his office. I followed him in and he threw me a curious look as he walked around his desk. "Don't you have a lesson?"

I fidgeted uncharacteristically where I stood, picking at my blazer sleeve. "Yeah, but," I hesitated.

The whole thing with Alice and meeting the murderer yesterday still preyed on my mind. Guilt pressed on me heavily. I needed someone to tell me that it wasn't my fault, to reassure me that it would have still happened even if I hadn't pissed him off and sent him away…to her.

I turned and grabbed the door, closing it behind me. "I need to talk to you about something."

~X~

I was absolutely starving come dinner time. All the money we'd gotten was already spent, and the food in the house was either out of date, in a tin, or had turned a funny shade of green and had to have been thrown away, leaving me empty handed and my stomach tight with hunger. Derek had gone out of school for his dinner, and I hadn't seen Mike since this morning so there was no one that liked me enough around that I could cadge some money off of. So I did what I always did when I thought I was going to die dramatically from hunger.

I stole.

I waited, my back against the dining hall wall, watching closely to see if there were any students eating in a group, or some that looked so busy that they wouldn't notice my sleight of hand. My eyes caught sight of a familiar looking face. As I watched her for a while as she talked with her friends, I felt a cruel smile form, and pushed away from the wall. I kept my wits about me as I approached the table. With practiced speed, I moved quickly. I shot my hand out to grab the apple from where it sat on the edge while she was preoccupied. But I must not have been quick enough this time.

"Oi! Give that back!"

I turned to face her, my grin still planted on my face. My conscious fought between doing the right thing and giving it back to her, and my hunger. The latter won out. I knew that my dad would be ashamed of my actions if he was still alive, but I was pretty sure he wouldn't want me to starve either. I waved the apple teasingly as she rose from her seat. "Thanks for dinner, Shorty. We should do it again sometime."

As I knew she would, Shorty's face turned red, and for a moment, I actually thought she was going to approach me. But the longer I waited; I realized she wasn't going to move. She just glared at me over the distance between us.

"What have I done to you, huh? Why are you such a bitch to me?"

My ears picked up the collective gasp from around me. It had become quite clear that we were no longer just a murmur in the back ground, but the main sound now, beside the clunking of dinner trays, or disjointed echoes of conversations still going on. I could feel the weight of their expectant gazes pressing into me. They were waiting. Waiting for me to do something, as I always did when anyone dared to fight back or stand up to me.

To be honest, I didn't have an answer to her question, mostly because I didn't know the reason myself. I was a bully. I knew that, and hated myself for becoming what I despised, but certain events hadn't left much room for me to be anything else, and though I wished deep down that I could change that, I felt it was all I knew anymore.

I started moving forward, adding a little arrogance to my pace as I took short, calculated steps toward her. As part of my intimidation, I made sure not to lose eye contact with her. It was one of the things my dad had taught me: _Never break eye contact with your opponent_. With my height I loomed over her, the apple in my hand and my other beginning to curl into a fist. I knew she could see it. Her breathing picked up a little, and a chorus of '_fight, fight, fight_!' began around us. Over her shoulder I could see her friends; they looked torn between wanting to help and fearing what I'd do to them if they did.

I was ready to hit her, to throw her down to the floor and threaten her for ever standing up to me, promising that if she ever did it again, her punishment would be worse. Then, out of nowhere, I felt something constrict in my chest as I noticed that her eyes, though wide and fearful, held a hint of defiance in them. She held herself steady, waiting expectantly for me to hit her, yet still looked as proud and brave as she had the moment she'd risen to her feet to face me. The act of her nerve caught me off guard, sending me back and reminding me of a younger me doing exactly the same thing a couple of years previous to another bully, just like me.

My heart raced as I stood there. Before, I would have hit her and have it done with, but now it felt as though something had changed. The thought that maybe I didn't have to be a bitch all the time, ran through my mind as I looked down at her.

I sighed, fighting the urge to smile at the prospect of someone finally saying no, and grabbed her hand. Shorty flinched away from my hand as I lifted it. Ignoring the looks I was getting, and the small girl quivering in fearful anticipation for the punch that would never come, I dropped the apple into her hand.

She stopped to stare at it for a long time before looking back up at me, her face a question mark, and an unreadable look in her eyes. But before she could say anything and embarrass me, I stepped back, clenching my jaw as I stalked away. A mixture of looks met me as I pushed past the crowd that had formed around us: curiosity, fear, disbelief. I said nothing and left the dining hall to step out into the summer heat.

_Shit, I'm getting soft…_


	4. Followed

"Thought I might find you here," Mike said.

I glanced up over my shoulder at him, watching as he came down the path. "I'm always here," I replied. I faced forward again, tilting my head back to bask in the sun's rays.

After the incident in the cafeteria, I didn't feel like hanging around to watch what happened afterwards. I already felt as though I was building myself up to be taken down. The more I thought about the reason behind my actions, the more I came to the conclusion that perhaps the brush with the murderer, and the eventual news of Alice's death, had left me more shaken than I originally thought. I could look after myself- I wasn't weak, but when it had looked like he was going to get out of his car to approach me, I'd frozen inside. I hadn't feared anything since my father had died. Reacting the way I had left me confused, and not that I would admit it aloud, scared.

I'd spent a good hour sat beneath the only tree in the Wreck after leaving the cafeteria. It sat upon a slight hill overlooking the remnants of what had once been a children's playground; an area that had once joined onto the back end of the school. But when the campus had expanded, and the playground had been cordoned off for lack of use, the playground had taken on the name Wreck for its state of neglect. Now all that remained were the weak and rusty structures of a once colourful climbing frame, and a swing set that only had the chains still left hanging eerily from it. Broken bottles and rubbish littered the ground, barely visible shards hidden within the gritted terrain. A line of bushes had been planted around the Wreck's perimeter along the inside of the metal fencing, but the school was still visible from the hill.

Mike laid down on the grass, stretching out the full length of his body next to me. When I glanced down, he had his eyes closed, hands behind his head and a slight smile on his mouth.

I prodded the area just under his ribs. "What are you grinning at?"

He flinched. "Ah, be careful…I'm sensitive there." He looked up at me and closed his eyes again. "I'm not grinning at anything, Angel."

The tone of his voice didn't convince me. "_Sure_ you aren't," I agreed sarcastically. I prodded him again and he caved.

"Alright, I'll tell you if you stop stabbing me with your bony fingers."

"I don't have bony fucking fingers!" I protested. I brought them up to inspect. I liked to think that my fingers were normal. At least they weren't as thick as his were, but maybe that was a guy thing?

He pushed himself up on his elbows and looked at me, closing one eye when the sun shined in it. He had an easy sort of expression on his face, like he was happy about something, or amused. "I heard about what happened earlier," he said.

"Damn…"

"No, no, it's not bad," he assured me, reaching out to touch my arm. "I think it's a good thing you didn't hit her. Not that she would have done anything to deserve it in the first place, mind you. I mean, you did _steal_ something from her." He wilted a little under my glare, but his smile never faltered.

"What did you hear exactly?" I asked, narrowing my eyes. I wanted to know just how much of what really happened had been embellished after I left.

He shrugged. "Not much really. You stole an apple, some girl told you to give it back and instead of hitting her, you did."

"That's all?"

"Yeah. Why? Is there more?"

"Not really," I answered, looking away to watch the swing chains moving slowly back and forth by the slight breeze. I lifted my knees up to my chest and leant my arms upon them. Resting the side of my face on my arms, I glanced over at Mike.

There were some days, much like today, where I found myself thinking a lot deeply than I liked. It wasn't often that I allowed myself to delve into my own thoughts because half the time, I didn't like what I saw. But it seemed that today was a thinking day, and as I sat out on the hill basking in the warmth of the summer heat, I found myself thinking again. This time about Mike. He was still looking at me. He'd lifted his hand to shade his eyes, leaving them both open and fully focused on my face.

Even though we were only friends, I couldn't seem to find what it was that he saw in me. I smoked, swore like a sailor, and often released my anger out on him when I didn't mean it. More than once he'd found himself on the receiving end of my temper, either when I was dealing with the stress of looking after my alcoholic mother and it had forced me to breaking point, or even if I was just having a bad day. Yet still, miraculously, he stayed with me like a loyal friend. He never frowned upon me for anything, and though I knew he didn't like that I was short tempered with those that tried to get to know me, or that I tormented others for no other reason than it amused me, he seemed to overlook it all. It was as though he could see something that I couldn't.

Sometimes it bugged me that he was so nice; I wasn't used to it and honestly, because of my abrasive nature, it unnerved me. However, at the same time, turning to him knowing that he always had a smile for me cheered me up, and made me secretly glad that he hadn't given up on me yet.

He smiled again, this time it was a little wider, emphasizing the dimples in his cheeks. "What are _you_ smiling at?"

"Huh?" I said dumbly.

Now it was his turn to poke me in the side. I swatted his hand away when pain flared near my ribs. "Ow! That was bloody hard, Mike!"

"Oh really?" He waggled his eyebrows.

I rolled my eyes at his suggestive translation of my words, but couldn't help but smile again. I rubbed my side absently as I looked back at him. "I wasn't smiling about anything really. I was just thinking."

"Always a dangerous concept," he nodded seriously.

"Very funny. I was just thinking about you, _kinda_." Seeing his eyebrows raise a little, I rushed on before he thought too much of it. "I just mean…why are you my friend?"

His eyebrows stitched together at the question. He sat up a little straighter. "What kind of question is that?"

I looked away and shrugged. "I was just wondering why someone like you would ever wanna hang around with someone like me. You could make friends with anybody else; you're too kind not to. I'm not worth bothering with. It doesn't make sense that, well, you'd wanna be friends with me."

He was quiet for a moment before he answered. "And what makes you say that?"

I tucked my chin under my crossed arms to hide my face. It was rare that I opened up. There wasn't anyone I knew well enough to want to, except Mike or Derek – because I _had_ to. Whenever I did, I felt like child. My insecurities surfaced and I found myself slowly getting angry at allowing myself to divulge so much of my private thoughts. It was easier to talk to Mike, because I knew he would never tell anybody else about what we talked about, but mostly because he understood.

In the past, Mike's uncle, Will, had possessed a bad habit of lashing out at folk, and more often than not, Mike, his brother, and their parents - despite their efforts to understand - had been on the receiving end of it. It hadn't been until they'd finally had enough and called the coppers on him that it stopped. He'd been immediately arrested for domestic abuse, GBH, and possession of a Class A drug. The family had been relieved when it had stopped, but his torment had left a mark on the family, leaving them bearing their own scars – emotional as well as physical.

Kai, Mike's older brother, focused on work, and though I knew he could be just as kind as Mike, he usually holed himself up in his room when he got home, so I hardly saw him. Their parents were nice enough people, but even to a stranger, it was obvious that there was something behind the smiles they gave; some untold story that explained the pain. The tightness around their eyes, and the almost forced quality to their smiles made me feel just uncomfortable enough to make me want to disappear into Mike's room with him whenever I visited. I felt guilty for not communicating with them more, but I didn't want to intrude or put my foot in my mouth by accidentally mentioning Will. It was safer to just leave it.

I treated Mike badly sometimes, and I wondered whether my behaviour unknowingly caused him any hurt. If it did, he never said anything. Seeing him still staring, I waved my hand out in front of me wearily. "I don't know. I guess I just don't understand you," I mumbled.

Mike chuckled gently. "Angel…I know what you're thinking right now, and you're wrong. You aren't a bad person. Yeah, you beat me up; you lose it sometimes with people at school…hell. You're fucked up!" I turned to glare at him and he held up a hand to stave off any comment I was about to say. "But who isn't though?" he continued. His brown eyes softened as he looked at me. "Nobody makes it into adulthood without going through some shit, and if you don't, you're either lucky or deluded. We've all got scars, Angel. You haven't exactly handled yours well, you know that. But if people knew…if they understood what was going on-,"

"No," I protested, shaking my head. "I'm not about to go tell anyone anything. The last thing I need is a pity party."

"Nobody would pity you."

"The answer is still no. The only one that knows everything is you, and that's all I need."

We were silent for a long moment. I think we both realized that I'd admitted, in a roundabout way, that he was important to me and that I needed him. I waited for his playful teasing, but it never came. Mike was never one for rubbing salt in a wound. Instead he just offered a small smile of acknowledgement, knowing that it was the closest I was going to get to confessing how much he truly meant to me.

He seemed to realize that I felt uncomfortable, but even when he looked away to stare out at the Wreck, I fidgeted where I sat. I picked at my nails, ripped the grass around my feet, and stared distractedly at my own feet as time stretched on. It was a long time before I felt his gaze on me again. I would see him in my peripheral vision occasionally opening his mouth as though to say something, only to think better of it and stay quiet.

"Hey, what time is it?" I asked when I felt things had grown awkward.

He looked his watch. "Half five. Why?"

"Already? Wow, time really flies when you're doing nothing," I chuckled.

Mike smiled at that. He leaned back again, dragging a hand through his hair. "I don't know how you get away with it. You constantly sneak out of school, or you just don't turn up…but you've never been caught or threatened with exclusion." He shook his head. "They'd catch me straight away if I attempted a day off."

"That's because you're a good boy," I teased.

He smirked at me then, his eyes flashing with amusement. "Nothing wrong with that."

"They finish last."

"That's a fallacy!" Mike announced. He pointed at me, shaking his head. "Not all good guys are that way. Take _Omega Kid_ for instance-,"

"Oh please, not the super heroes again!" I fell back upon the grass and covered my face with my arms.

"What?" he laughed. "Do you think he's a good guy, or a bad boy in real life? Which would you prefer?"

I rubbed a hand down my face, rolling my eyes. "I can't believe we're talking about this!"

"Just trying to figure out what you're into, Angel."

I looked at him, arching an eyebrow. "And why would you wanna even know that?"

He winked at me. "Just wondering."

~X~

I knew I was being followed; I could feel a presence behind me.

The first time I noticed it was when I'd moved to cross over the road. I'd looked to make sure there were no cars, and noticed out the corner of my eye, a group just up the path behind me. At first, I thought that maybe I was imagining it – that I had developed paranoia since the incident. But when they moved when I did; crossed when I did, I knew they were following me. They talked with their heads close together, and if they were trying to stay inconspicuous, they failed. A couple pointed at me and talked again. I wasn't too worried. I was used to instances like this; people from school who I'd pissed off at some point and wanted payback, or wanted the chance to confront me so they could leave and brag, or make up lies later.

I watched them carefully. When they were distracted, I slipped away quickly and hid behind the cover of a wall. I waited patiently until I heard their chatter rise in volume, announcing their approach. Their curious inquiries towards my whereabouts cemented my initial suspicions that they were indeed following me. I pressed my back flat against the wall and listened to them bitch.

"Come on, Kylie. I wanna go home," I heard a young voice whine.

"No. I wanna know where she goes," another more forceful, adamant, voice said.

"Why?" another whined.

"Because if I can find out where she pisses off to, I can jump her; just like she did to Jayne."

"She jumped your sister? When?"

They were quiet; the only sound was the gravel crunching under their tread as they turned onto the path; the path just before my wall.

I tried to think, tried to recall this girl '_Jayne'_ that Kylie had spoken of. But as I waited, running all memories of my past endeavours through my mind, the times where I'd lashed out on others at school, I found I couldn't remember. There was no face to the name I'd heard. But the one thing that I noted was that, whoever this girl was, she was planning on attacking me. A feral smile stretched across my mouth, and my blood began to rush at the prospect of a possible fight. Whoever she was, I'd get her first.

I stepped out theatrically from my hiding place, walking with exaggerated arrogance as I confronted them. There were three of them, and they all gasped collectively when they saw me. I could see the fear in their eyes, the tension in their muscles freezing them in place as I moved closer, smiling wider like a predator that had just cornered her prey. I narrowed my eyes at the tallest; she stood in the centre of them, and looked to be the oldest, and I guessed from the way her face paled considerably that she was the one I'd caught talking. She equalled my own height, but from a brief glance toward her feet, I realized it was only because of the high heels she wore.

The girl had a peculiarly thin face and angled features, and though her eyes were wide, they looked small and narrow; their bluish colour just barely visible passed the thick eyelashes that fringed them. Her hair was cut to her shoulder and styled back with a headband that kept it all in place, though it didn't look as though she needed it. I was pretty sure that the amount of hairspray she'd doused her hair in would keep it all in place; when she moved her hair, it all moved at once like some strange, hairy helmet.

After closer inspection, something in my mind clicked and I knew I had seen her before. Her familiarity to me came from seeing her at school; she was the student representative for our year. Because of complaints made towards me, she had spent most of the last year on my case, and because I didn't care, I waved her off, normally receiving a dark look in return; one of many that she'd thrown my way after I'd jumped a particular fourth year student on her way to class. She'd been late, and because I was having a bad day, I'd decided to cheer myself up with a little confrontation. The memory came rushing back to me and I smiled wider.

"It's Kylie…right?" I asked her casually.

She clenched her jaw and frowned, making herself stand taller. "Yes. You should know that already seeing as you saw me nearly every day," she said tightly.

"Yes, well, Kylie. I think I should tell you that I don't like it when people follow me around. It's a dangerous thing to do, so I wouldn't recommend repeating it any time soon," I said slowly. "The same goes for talking about me when you think I'm not listening."

She seemed to hear the hidden threat in my words, but unfortunately for her, Kylie wasn't as smart as I thought she was, and didn't take my hint for her to leave. The girls behind her stepped back carefully, leaving Kylie alone as she confronted me. I tried my best not to laugh at their frightened expressions, or that it was so obvious that they wanted to be anywhere but here.

"I…I want you to leave my sister alone," Kylie stammered.

"Sister?" I played dumb.

Kylie's face reddened. "You know who my sister is!" she said angrily. She pointed at my chest threateningly, coming dangerously close to poking me. I stared at the appendage, imagining bending it all the way back if it dared to touch me. "I want you to leave her alone!"

Her friends' eyes widened slightly at Kylie's sudden outburst. It seemed they were just as surprised as I was by her. I had always known her to be some uptight, prissy little bitch, but it seemed I was wrong. I decided to test her and stepped closer, watching her reaction. She swallowed but didn't back down. Instead, she seemed to make herself stand taller, and narrowed her eyes at me, a visible bead of sweat trickling down her temple.

"And…what if I don't?" I asked. "I mean, yeah, I jumped her…but that was last year. What if I decide to go find her again? Y'know, see how she is…see if she remembers me? Who knows, maybe I'll tell her you reminded me?" I said and winked.

"But-," she started, sputtering over how things had turned. She'd thought she was in control, but she hadn't thought things out.

"I could always just leave her alone, but where's the fun in that?" I interrupted her. I stepped closer; we stood almost toe to toe. She shrunk back from the sudden proximity, hunching a little. The fight seemed to disappear out of her stance. "I tell you what. You apologize to me, promise not to follow me again, and I won't knock your teeth out right here, right now. What do you say?"

I wanted to see how far the girl would go. To see whether or not her pride would let her down. From what I'd heard of her in school, she wasn't the fighting type. She was more talk than action, but because of the size of her mouth, she normally won her arguments. However, when faced with the threat of physical violence, the girl crumbled. She lowered her eyes from mine, frowning. She wasn't used to losing and neither was I, but the main difference between us was that I wasn't afraid of breaking a nail if I had to hit her, whereas this Barbie looked as though she'd probably cry over it. She lifted her head but refused to look into my eyes again.

"No, I won't,"

Her reply was so soft that I wasn't sure she'd actually said anything. It was only when I looked over her shoulder and saw her friend's faces that I knew she had. They looked scared for her. They fought between running and stepping over to her to help. She snatched her arm back when one of them made to grab and pull her away. When she did, her hand flew up and cracked me across the jaw. The movement was so quick that it wasn't till I felt pain flare in my face that I realized she'd done anything.

"Ow." I stood up straight and faced her, rubbing my jaw, my eyes narrowing as I glared.

She stared wide-eyed at her hand, looking between it and my face. She hadn't meant to hit me that much was clear. She looked as surprised as me. But, being who I was, I wasn't going to just stand by and let her get away with a free hit. While she was still deciding whether or not her hand was her own, I grabbed the neck of her shirt and slammed my fist into her stomach, leaving her doubled over and winded. While she was struggling to breathe, I held her head and brought my knee up to her face and she fell backwards onto her rear, rolling on the floor crying out in pain.

Standing over her, I scowled at her friends and they skittered away like scared little puppies. Once they were gone, I looked back down at Kylie. She was whimpering and holding her face and stomach, muttering curses at me, at herself. I lowered to a crouch, and she moved away as best she could with the pain she was in. I hated seeing people like this, especially when I thought that they didn't really deserve it, but with the way I felt…I just didn't care right now.

Moving my lips near her ear, I kept my voice low and dangerous enough that she would hear my warning this time. "Stay away from me, Kylie, because next time, I won't be so _gentle_."

Grabbing her arm, I wrenched her up to her feet and shoved her away from me. I could see by the surprise mixed in with the hate she threw my way that she had expected me to do more, but she decided to not hang around to wait for it.

Smart girl after all


	5. Reluctant

The next couple of days were surprisingly quiet.

There was no other news on the murderer, except that they were still looking for him and other group members. Wreathes, cards and flowers had been brought to school and lined outside the outer walls of the site so that those that passed, students and not, could still pay their respects. As I had thought, when it came closer to the end of the week, the teachers held a minute silence in respect for the loss of a fellow student, and an assembly was called to remember her.

Though I didn't know her very well, it still made me sad for her loss. The way she had been killed had been brutal. To say that the police hadn't found any leads on the killer's whereabouts, or identity, pissed me off so badly that once the assembly was over, I stormed out. I knew that I surprised a few people, Mike and my cousin Derek, only a couple of examples. Mike came to talk to me afterwards. It was more for his benefit than my own. He was upset too, but unlike the way I endured it, he was more complex. I was more outward with my physical feelings, Mike was not, and so where I needed to hit something, he needed to talk.

We spent a good couple of hours talking about the whole thing until we were both acceptably depressed enough for him to give me a proper telling off. My treatment of Kylie had not gone unnoticed. The day after she had tasted my knee, I received more dark looks than usual, and even a few comments thrown my way. Mike told me about how it had spread across school that I had beaten her up. I only hit her twice! But then again, I wasn't exactly light handed. The next time I saw her after the incident, I noticed that she sported a rather colourful bruise around her nose and eyes. Anyone would have thought she'd had a nose job.

He remained distant and disapproving until I told him how they had followed me, and had planned to attack me. After that, he had grown a little more understanding, but refused to talk to me properly until I promised that I'd apologize at some point. Some part of me knew that I probably would, but he should have realized that it wouldn't be any time soon. I put it on my list of things to do. Among the other things I had planned, visiting this shop, '_Comic City', _that I'd seen during my internet browsing a couple of days ago was one of them. Since looking over the site the other day, I felt the weirdest urge to go and have a look and see what all the fuss is about with the heroes.

It was so strange standing in the middle of the store the next day, dressed in my uniform, but almost covered from head to toe in my half cut trench coat. I felt like a dirty old pervert trying to cover her identity in an adult store, but though I received a few strange looks, it was a necessary precaution. The last thing I wanted was for people from school to see me in here. My reputation would plummet from feared to laughing stock. The shop's population was mostly male and the shop itself reeked of paper, coffee and virginity. As if I needed anymore attention.

I think I must have spent about half an hour browsing through the shelves. Hundreds upon hundreds of different colourful comics sat upon the ledges, their titles flashing the onlookers with large blocky titles to grab their attention. It almost worked. There were a few that my eyes lingered on for a minute or so before I caught myself. I was in a nerd's paradise; I had to stop myself before I was sucked in too. I preferred books, _real_ books without pictures, rather than these flimsy excuses for literature that Mike poured hours of reading and money into.

It wasn't long before I found a corner that seemed to be dedicated just to _Omega Kid_. Posters of his likeness, though obviously possessing an exaggerated build, were hung up on the walls with him striking a heroic pose, looking off into the distance with some faraway look in his eyes. Copies of his costume were squeezed onto a few mannequins in adult and kid sizes, and a small waist-height shelf with candid photos claiming to be actual pictures of the hero caught in action were sat next to them. It both intrigued and sickened me how complete strangers who ran around causing problems could have such a high market. It seemed as though the greater population would rather live in a fantasy, than actively change their reality.

"Are you planning on stealing something?" a quiet voice asked me.

I turned, frowning at the voice's owner. A boy about my height with a lanky build and short brown hair stood before me, his hands in his pockets, and a wry smile curving his lips. I frowned at his easy stance and kind eyes. "What makes you think I'm gonna nick something?" I snapped.

"I…um," The boy next to me looked me up and down, his eyes noting my coat and the way I had my shoulders hunched. Okay, yeah, so I didn't exactly look inconspicuous.

I shook my head and looked up at the bookshelves. "Don't worry. I wouldn't buy anything to do with these wackos, never mind nick it," I replied curtly when he couldn't answer.

He seemed both confused and shocked by my answer. "Why would you be here if you aren't interested, if you don't mind me asking?"

I glared at the comics, taking in the colourful images and the flashy titles. "Morbid curiosity,"

"You don't like the heroes, do you?"

I snorted and looked at him, arching an eyebrow. "What gave me away?"

He ignored my snide tone and smiled at me. "You don't exactly radiate the kind of enthusiasm that most customers have here." He gestured around the shop and we looked at the eager teen boys pouring over the comics in groups, all smiling and giggling, or pointing at some half naked woman in the comic.

I smiled wryly. "Yeah, well I ain't some hormonal virgin with nothing better to do on a Friday afternoon."

The boy looked at me, his blue eyes flashing with amusement. "What makes you think they're virgins?"

I looked at him and gestured pointedly to the group of boys. "_Please_, the only girlfriends they have are holding the comics," I said, and with the noticeable absence of girls in the shop, it only left a couple of things that could qualify as a temporary "_girlfriend_".

The boy blushed and turned back to me, trying not to grin. "Right. Well, I won't be touching those comics." He rolled his eyes at my smirk and pointed to the _Omega Kid_ corner. "So, why has _morbid curiosity _brought you here? You must have a reason for not liking heroes?"

I frowned again at the mention of heroes and glowered at the poster of the _Kid_. "I don't believe in them. They don't help anybody."

"That's not true!" He tapped the poster eagerly. "_Omega Kid_ has helped a lot of people."

"So one '_hero'_ out of fuck knows how many posers have done something - whoop-ti-doo. How many others, how many of these _dumbasses_ have gone out and gotten themselves killed, or gotten-," my voice broke when my dad's loving smile flashed before my eyes. "…others killed."

The boy looked at me for a long time. He seemed to be thinking hard about what to say next, which was good, because with the way I was feeling, I couldn't have given him a straight and honest answer. All my insides felt as though they were on fire, falling apart with rage. I tried not to lash out or glare. Instead, I turned away to look outside at something, anything that would take my mind off of the cutting memory of my father's death. My body started to shake, and though I knew I was still breathing, it felt as though I'd been punched hard in the gut with something hard, making it difficult to gulp air into my lungs.

Shaking my head, I pointed to the _Hero_, reigning in my anger. "Just because you think something, it doesn't make it so. One day the world is gonna start crashing around the poor fucker's ears, and he'll realize he made a mistake. How many people have gotten hurt as a result of his "heroics", huh?" I looked at the boy and he seemed to be not only listening, but giving my words some real thought. His eyes tightened slightly and I looked back up at _Omega Kid_, a sardonic smile twisting my lips. "They're stupid, blindly following an ideal based on luck and a daydreaming idiot. They're fighting for a lost cause; there's no hope."

Ever since these wackos started popping up, I started losing everything that ever mattered to me. Their existence was nothing but a bane to my own. Okay, so my life wasn't exactly perfect before them, but at least I had a family. We were together – all of us. If that hero hadn't taken the law into his hands, my dad would still be alive today. I'd still receive his hugs, see his warm smile that would reassure me that, no matter how bad it got, there was always hope left; that things would eventually get better. His silent promises were the only things I had through it all. In his absence, I felt parts of me leave with him. No…I wouldn't - _couldn't_ - be happy for the heroes' existence. They were the reason my dad was gone. How could I be happy that they've become so popular?

"No,"

I blinked, surprised that I'd even heard the boy say anything. I turned to look at him and saw him looking to the floor, shaking his head. "What?"

"I said no. You're wrong." He looked up at me and I saw determination and strength in his gaze. He looked so sure that for a moment my guard fell a little. "Hope is only gone when people start to believe it is. I don't know who you are or what you've been through, and you have your reasons for being angry at the heroes, but they fight for what is right when nobody else can. They give hope back."

He stared at me, but there was no challenge in it. Instead, I saw the absolute faith he had in his words; he believed them so much that for a second, so did I.

"You really believe that?" I asked him after a long moment.

"Yes," He nodded once, smiling. "I honestly do."

The boy's eyes lit up as we looked back up at the poster. "I've always liked heroes and the idea of it. Having them in real life…it gives you hope, y'know? Knowing that there are those out there that can defy the rules to save others. They might not always succeed, but you have to remember that at the end of the day, they're human. They aren't like the ones you see in the comics. These are people that are risking their lives to protect others, just because they feel in their heart that it's the right thing to do. We _need_ more good people like that."

"_Thomas_! Are you helping or what? These boxes need moving!" a woman's strained voice shouted from behind us.

The boy beside me looked back, waving to her and smiled at me. "Sorry, I gotta go." Thomas started to leave but came back for a second. He smiled sadly at me, tilting his head to one side before he spoke. "They aren't all bad. They just want to help when nobody else will. You might not like it, but try to give them the chance you'd want for yourself."

Thomas smiled once more and ran over to help the woman as she struggled at the counter. Taking some of the boxes, he shared the load and they carried them away together, disappearing out of my view.

Even after he was gone, his words rang in my head. I hated to admit it, but some of what he'd said embedded itself into the rational part of my mind and broke through, making me want to agree with him. I couldn't tell whether it was because of his seeming naivety, or something else, but he seemed so sure. I could have written it all off as him being a sheep, blindly following that which had become a viral phenomenon, but as I'd watched him when he spoke and listened to him, he seemed to have an intelligence about him that no other hero worshipper that I'd met. He didn't seem stupid. He really believed in the heroes and what they stood for.

Back when Kick-Ass had first made himself known as a real life hero in America, I admit that I'd been intrigued. The concept of a real life hero had held some appeal that I had been drawn to. It was only when they killed my dad that I had become sour over it.

I blinked as the thought struck me. Was that what it was? Was I still so angry over the incident that I held hatred toward all the rest of the heroes and refused to give any other a chance? They hadn't done anything to me personally, but thinking about them brought back bitter memories and a crushing fear of losing someone else. Maybe what Thomas had said had some truth to it? Maybe they weren't all bad?

I glanced up at the _Omega Kid_ poster and sneered at his seriously tight-tights. Still looked fucking stupid though…

~X~

"Is that a comic book, Angel?"

I jumped and shoved the comic away under my arm, turning my body away and cursing in the process. "What would I want with a comic book, Mike?"

Though I continued to hide, I could hear the smile in his voice as he sidled up beside me, grinning as usual and knew I had been caught. He had a light in his eyes as he tried to see what I had in my hands. "Oh, I don't know…you tell me."

I gave him my best glare, but he remained unaffected and reached around me, encompassing me in the circle of his arms and clamped them down, destroying any chance I had of getting away with my guilty item. Before I could do anything, he snatched it from my hand and stood, holding it aloft. His grin grew wider while my face became hotter, both from embarrassment and rising anger. I folded my arms.

"Well, go on then. Say it!"

He looked at me, surprised. "Say what?"

I gestured to him, shaking my hand in exasperation. "Whatever the fuck you're gonna say. Go on, I'm a nerd or a freak, right?"

Mike looked as though he was going to poke fun; take my bait, but instead his eyes softened slightly, and his smile curved into one that somebody gave when they thought something was cute. "You are neither of those things, Angel. Just because you got a comic, it doesn't automatically make you anything else but what you are."

"And what is that?" I asked carefully, letting my warning leak into my voice.

He smiled and stepped toward me, gently stroking the area just below where I knew the bruise still resided under my eye. "A girl: nothing more, nothing less."

I pulled my face away, uncomfortable with the heat that crept into my face. "Yeah, well, this girl doesn't like comics. I was just…curious. About why you read them, I mean."

Mike pulled open the comic and started scanning the pages, flipping through it slowly. "Wait, isn't this-,"

"Kick-Ass, yeah," I interrupted.

"I thought you didn't like him?"

We started a lazy walk across the field, cutting across it to get to our shortcut. "I don't. I just wanna see what all the bother is about. As far as I can tell, like every other hero out there, he's just a glorified idiot in tights."

"Yeah, but so was Robin Hood, and people liked him. He did good for mankind when no one else would."

I pinched the bridge of my nose and closed my eyes. "Can we not get onto the subject of Robin Hood, please?"

"Oh, yeah, I forgot you don't believe he existed," Mike chuckled.

"I didn't say he didn't. I just meant that…" I trailed off when my ears picked up a sound nearby.

Mike didn't see me stop; too engrossed in the pages of the comic book in his hands. When he realized I wasn't talking, he looked up and turned back, curiosity in his eyes. "Angel-?"

"Shush!" I silenced him, bringing a finger to my lips.

He remained quiet, watching me as I tilted my ear to the sky to listen. I frowned and closed my eyes to try and block out everything else, and sure enough, I heard the sound again. As with everything else I did after the recent atrocity that had befallen Alice, instinct kicked in and I started legging it toward the source, leaving Mike stood in the field. As soon as I reached the fence, the shouting and crying grew louder. My heart jumped into my throat when my mind pictured the disgusting, leering face of the murderer possibly trying to grab another girl.

I hopped up onto a sawn off tree trunk, grabbed the top of the fence, and threw myself over, narrowly missing a branch of a neighbouring tree to the face. I fell heavily behind the guy as he loomed over the girl on the floor. I barely had enough time to register her face as I grabbed him from behind and yanked him back, throwing him a small distance away with as much strength as I could muster after my sprint.

"Get the fuck off her you _freak_!" I shouted, throwing a punch his way.

He growled as it slammed into his chest, but with the awkward angle, and the speed in which he returned made my hand land awkwardly, bending it in a painful way. While I cradled my hand, I mistakenly left my side open and fell victim to his fist. It slammed into the side of my face, knocking me aside with the impact and straight into the thorny bush that protruded through the bars, slicing at the skin of my cheek. He tried to grab me but I kicked out, catching him behind the knee. As he dropped a little, I used the momentum of my movements to barge into him with my shoulder. While I was facing out, I looked down at the girl and frowned when I recognized her.

_Shorty?_

Our eyes locked for a moment and I realized she remembered me too. Her face changed from fear to surprise then concern as she watched me wrestle with what felt like a mountain. She rose awkwardly, attempting to pry us apart when I had him pinned up against the other side of the fence.

"Stop it! Stop it, now! Kevin!" she shouted.

_Kevin_? She knew the guy?! I glared up at him and realized that he wasn't the murderer; he looked far too young. He looked more like a student than a full grown, perverted taxi driver. Surprise failed me and I received a kick to the gut and a punch to the ribs that left me winded and holding my stomach as I fell to the floor, groaning in pain and immediate regret.

As my stomach felt like it was going to fall out of my ass, I watched as Shorty still stood between us, holding her own as _she_ tried to protect _me_ from the rhino of a guy I'd been attempting to save her from. Now that I had a better look, there was no wonder my hits hadn't seemed to be doing anything. He looked built like a brick house; the muscles of his abdomen, chest and arms threatening to burst through the pathetic Rugby shirt that sheathed his form.

"_She_ jumped _me_, Jay! Get away. Let me finish the bitch!"

I shuffled back as it looked like he was going to make it around Shorty's tiny form. Like she had done that day I'd tried stealing her apple, she demanded attention and caught his eye, staring his six foot self ass down. "No, Kevin. It's your own damn fault for starting this. This has nothing to do with her. Just leave, will you. Leave me the fuck alone! Go back to your whore."

I blinked in surprise at the language that was coming from the girl. She looked too young and nice to be using words that I normally spouted on an hourly basis. But what shocked me more was that, though he'd obviously tried hurting her before; this defensive side seemed to throw him off as much as it did me. I felt just as lost as he looked as he glanced down at the gnome blocking his path to me.

"Are you fuckin' stupid? That's Frost!" he shouted angrily, thrusting a finger in my direction. "She almost beat you up the other day for no reason. Are you going to stand there and defend her?!"

I looked to Shorty. She gave no answer, nor did she look back. Instead, she clenched her jaw and pushed at his chest, sending him stumbling back a step. "Stop changing the subject. Like I said, Kevin. It's over. Get lost and leave me the hell alone. Unless you want me to tell your daddy what you've been up to? You wouldn't wanna lose your scholarship, would you?"

Kevin's face almost seemed to turn purple at her words under his dirty blonde mop. I felt a strange instinct to jump up and defend Shorty from the hulk that glared down at her, gritting his teeth so tightly together that I thought they might crumble into dust from the pressure. "You'll regret this, Jay. Count on it. No one breaks up with me!"

He turned to glower at me and spat in my direction before stalking off. The aura of his threat still seemed to linger in the air even after he'd gone. The effects of his punch certainly did. As soon as I thought I was able, I moved, but my stomach clenched tightly and I released a painful groan, falling back against the metal fence. Shorty, who'd been watching the retreating figure of who I guessed was her now ex-boyfriend, realized I was still here and turned at the noise.

She moved to kneel by me, her hands stumbling to do something but unsure what, and her eyes flashing constantly with concern and a reserved fear that I knew wasn't for Kevin, but rather me. I could tell it was making her feel awkward as she attempted to do anything she thought might help, and after our most recent history, I knew I would be the last person she'd wanna see, even after Kevin.

I pushed her hands away. "Leave me alone," I mumbled.

"But you're in pain…"

"I said leave me alone. Fuck, are you deaf or something?"

"Don't start with me! I was only trying to help-,"

"Yeah, well, so was I, Shorty, and look where that got me!" I snapped, gesturing to the hand I held protectively over my middle.

Shorty sighed and sat back on her heels, but didn't move away as she watched me try and move from my curled up position on the ground. I had to admit it; Hulk really did a number on me. I couldn't remember the last time I'd been his so hard in the stomach before. My stomach muscles felt bruised. I was kinda impressed.

Finally, after a moment of struggling, I growled under my breath and reluctantly reached out to the hand Shorty held out for me. With a strength that betrayed her slight figure, she pulled me up and helped me into a somewhat semi-standing position.

"…thanks," I muttered quietly.

"What?"

I looked at her. I couldn't tell from her expression, but I was sure she'd heard me and just wanted to hear me say it again. Tough. I wasn't in the mood for passing out pleasantries. She saw my frown and decided not to push it. She did, however, stay with me until Mike managed to climb his scrawny ass over the fence. There was a loud tear as the cuff of his trouser leg caught the sharp prongs atop the fence, and ripped as he fell.

"Ah, shit! These were my best pair!" he complained.

"They look fine," I lied, eyeing the massive tear that ran up the inseam of his trousers. I shoved at his shoulder painfully. "Where the fuck were you?"

"I was on my way. It's getting harder to climb over that fence. In case you haven't noticed, there are sharp ends all over that damn thing! I was lucky it didn't tear my skin!"

"Oh, yeah, lucky." I narrowed my eyes and saw him flip open the comic he'd taken off me. "You were reading the comic, weren't you?"

"You ran off!"

"Because I wanted to save-," I stopped myself when I realized Shorty was still with us.

I glanced over my shoulder and saw her looking at me strangely. I pulled a face, but she didn't flinch. She just looked between me and Mike, taking in the way he took my fire with casual ignorance and a smile.

"What are you looking at, Shorty?" I growled.

"I told you not to call me Shorty," she replied.

"I'll call you what I damn well want!"

"I helped you!" she shot back almost accusingly.

She stared at me for a moment, and the longer she stared into my eyes, the more I felt my defences start to fall within. It felt as though she was seeing through me and was silently challenging me to do something about it. It made me feel uncomfortable. It reminded me too much of the way Mike looked at me when he knew I was lying, or when he could tell that I wasn't really angry, but rather annoyed that he still hung around me – even if I secretly liked it. I didn't need another annoyance.

"Look, I thought he was someone else, alright. I wouldn't have done anything if I'd known it was you," I said cooly.

"_Angel_!" Mike snapped, shooting me a reproachful look.

I could see the hurt that flickered across her eyes at my words, but it was necessary to keep her safe. One guy I could deal with. Another person following me around like a puppy would be too much. Some part of me felt guilty for being so horrible, even by my standards, but she'd understand eventually. It wasn't like I wanted to be friends with her. I didn't need friends.

Ignoring the looks Mike was giving me, I turned to start walking away. It was hard, but I tried to block out the disapproving mutterings that fell from Mike's lips as we walked, but my ears picked up the softly spoken "_Thank you_," that followed me on the air as I left Shorty in the shortcut, making my reluctant heart skip with renewed hope of a life that felt long forgotten.

* * *

_I wanted to say thank you for the reviews I've recieved so far from everyone and the views, and the in-depth review I recieved from "Fan". Thank you very much, it really made my day :) I wanted to reply in a PM, but you don't have a username Dx lol Thanks for your critique :)_


	6. Unexpected

The power of Mike's glare was tangible. My insides swirled with guilt and annoyance as I tried my best to rid my face of the scratches on my cheek, while simultaneously attempting to ignore him. We had only been back ten minutes and I already felt like shit. Mike refused to say anything when we made our way to his house. He remained quiet. I would have welcomed the silence, if not for the fact that I knew that it was brought on because he was pissed at me.

He'd unlocked the door and let me in, but refused to meet my eyes while I tried to explain myself. He seemed torn between wanting to slap me for my harsh words to Shorty, and helping me recover from Kevin's beating. Instead of saying or doing anything, he gave me the silent treatment while I cleaned myself up, only staring at my reflection in the mirror with a disappointed look in his eyes while I worked.

"Ah, fuck…that hurts." I winced as the tissue wiped antiseptic onto the cuts. It stung like a bitch, but it was the price I had to pay for my own stupidity. I risked glancing up to level his gaze. "So, are you just not gonna speak to me ever again, is that it?"

When Mike didn't say anything, I threw the tissue in the wicker bin beside the door and turned in my seat to face him properly. His eyes tightened slightly when they rested on my face, and I could see the concern that he couldn't disguise there, but he tried to remain angry. He was worried about the marks on my face and the collection of bruises I was developing, I could tell.

"Fine, don't talk then. Not like I'm bothered-,"

"Why did you say what you said?" he interrupted me.

I recovered from the shock of hearing him speak and smirked. "Oh my God, it talks!"

"Emma!" he snapped.

I sobered quickly. "Because I had to! She already thinks I'm a nasty, thieving bitch. Why try and change that?"

"Why would you want to be _known_ for that? You helped her out."

"I didn't mean to!"

He shook his head, his thick eyebrows meeting. "Don't you dare say that, Emma! You're a good person under all your bullshit. You ran to help because it was the right thing to do, regardless of who it was and you know it. Are you seriously gonna sit there and tell me that if you'd have known it was that girl and she was being attacked by some murderer, you would have let it happen? That you would have just let her die?"

I crossed my arms tightly over my chest as I turned my face away, pouting like a child. There was no way I could get out of this without sounding like a sadistic bitch. "No…" I admitted reluctantly.

"Well then, there you go," he replied, satisfied that he'd got me. "Going out of your way to be a bitch after that was not called for. Not when she was trying to help you too."

"I don't need help! I'm perfectly fine looking after myself!"

Mike stood and moved to me. "You were barely standing when I got to you, Angel, and I heard shouting. Obviously she helped out when you needed it. Judging by the bruise you're getting at the side of your face, and the size of that fucker I saw walking away, she helped you escape more than it could have been. Am I wrong?"

The image of Shorty stood between me and Kevin flashed before my eyes. My face burned with embarrassment and I rose to look out the window, keeping my back to him. I still couldn't understand why she had done that. Why, after everything I've done to others, and what I'd done to her in the past, would she help me? Surely she would have liked to see someone like me get a taste of their own medicine, right? She should have liked to have seen me get knocked on my ass. I remembered the small jolt my heart felt when I heard her thank me, but at the time had tried to pass it off as something else. I knew I was lying to myself by thinking it, but it didn't stop me from trying. Just thinking about that little short stack having to stand up for me made my stomach turn; made me feel so weak. I'd managed to survive social isolation, and in a way I kinda preferred it. I didn't need some weak little gnome fighting my battles for me.

I gritted my teeth when my thoughts shifted to what she was doing now. Was she telling people? Was she telling her friends about how weak I was – about how _she_ had to be the one to stop somebody from beating _me_ up? The thought of their faces laughing at me, at my weak moment assaulted my mind, making my fingernails bite into the bare flesh of my arm. I couldn't stand it if it were true, but I promised that if she dared to do something like that, what I would do to her would make Kevin's punch feel like a peck on the cheek in comparison. Nobody makes a fool of me.

"He got lucky," was all I said.

Before my thoughts could darken any further, I felt him approach from behind. The heat from his body told me he was close before I saw his hand. He curled his finger under my chin and turned my face toward him slowly; his soft brown eyes flicked to each of mine, quietly reading me like he always did. My stomach fluttered strangely when he sighed deeply and delicately stroked under the bruise on my cheek as if I was as fragile as an egg. "You can't keep doing this, Angel, because next time, you won't be."

~X~

I watched her carefully when we got back to school after the weekend, looking for any sign that she had spilled what had happened to anyone. It was strange. When I came back, I suffered short bursts of insecurity every now and then. I kept my shoulders hunched, looking out the corner of my eye when I saw someone too close to me or whenever I heard talking and kept my ears trained for any mention of my name just in case someone decided to talk about me. With the assortment of bruises I'd acquired, people were bound to look at me, but then when they realized who I was, they didn't bother saying or doing anything. I was always sporting some mark one way or another so it didn't matter.

When I felt sure that she hadn't said anything, or at least not yet, I sank back into my usual solitude. Mike and I hardly spoke after our little talk. It seemed as though something was off between us and it annoyed me that I couldn't figure out what it was. He seemed quiet, more withdrawn, and when we did speak it felt almost forced on his end.

For the rest of the school day, whenever I saw him he'd notice me but he couldn't quite meet my eyes, and he'd carry on walking, rushing to wherever he was heading in the first place. Whatever. I couldn't be assed with his weird behaviour, and I wasn't about to go out of my way to try and force the answer out of him. I hadn't thought that our talk over what happened with Shorty went that bad, but if he wanted to be strange and not talk to me then fine. I had better things to do with my time.

After the final bell went, I moved out from where'd skipped my lesson behind the old English block, and joined the masses that left the grounds. I drowned out their incessant chattering with my iPod until I got home. When I got home the door was slightly ajar. At first I wasn't too worried because sometimes I'd come back from school and mum had left the door open. But it was when I stepped inside that I immediately knew something felt different. It felt like there was a presence, or I was in a stranger's house. Everything felt cold. I felt like I was being watched. Confused and slightly worried, I plucked the earphones from my ears and turned the music off.

I looked around the kitchen and saw that, although nothing looked out of place, there were obvious signs of an intruder. My blood turned to ice when I noticed the dirty boot tracks trailing across the tile leading to the living room. They looked too big and wide to be a woman's. As I looked closer to inspect them, a dirty streak that ran alongside the tracks showed signs that something heavy had been dragged along.

A bang followed by a shuffling sound in the living room forced my attention away from the tracks and I slowed my pace. Was it mum? There had been a few times I had come home from school and she'd be awake and almost sober, moving around and attempting to tidy up. She wouldn't get very far but she'd try. Maybe she'd asked a friend for help? It was a long shot knowing her history with keeping friends, but it was what I was hoping for as I moved farther into the kitchen. I called out for her quietly; her name barely a whisper escaping my lips, but there was no answer. Nothing but dead silence. Then a deep, rumbling cough.

Someone was in the house

I moved toward the knife drawer. Pulling out the meat tenderizer, I held it beside me, curling my fingers around the cool handle tightly. With every step my mouth became drier. My heart beats doubled in speed. I lowered my bag gently to the ground, careful to make sure it didn't make a scraping sound against the tiles. As I crept closer to the living room, the noises became louder and another noise joined it. A voice. It didn't sound familiar to me. It was low, deep and gruff sounding. Like the kind a man would have if he smoked fifty a day.

My every nerve ending tingled with fear and anticipation. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end as I lifted my weapon and double handed it, keeping my eyes trained forward. Then, something happened that filled my stomach with sinking dread.

The floorboard beneath my foot creaked. I held my breath as the world seemed to hang suspended while I listened for the owner of the deep voice to react. I listened attentively with my heart in my throat as he dropped whatever he was holding and started in my direction. Forcing myself not to freak out and run away, I stayed where I was. His heavy footsteps got closer. My hand shook with every sound. Step. Step. Step.

Then, as I felt him reach me, I lifted the meat hammer – ready to strike.

"Holy fuck, Emma! Put that shit down! You tryin' to kill me?!"

My eyes bulged with shock. Dropping the hammer, I jumped up into the waiting arms of the smiling man before me. "_Uncle Rob_!" I exhaled with relief.

He laughed as his arms encircled me and lifted me off the ground. "Hey, Sweetie," he chuckled as I squeezed him into a bear hug. My ribs felt as though they were going to crush as he returned the pressure.

"What are you doing here, Uncle Rob? I thought you went to Australia?"

Uncle Rob's smile fell at the mention of Australia. He rubbed the back of his neck and reached down to pick up my makeshift weapon from its place on the floor and handed it back.

"Yeah, about that. I didn't really like it there. It wasn't home, y'know?" He gestured to the house around us after I replaced the meat hammer, but there was something in his eyes and the way he refused to look at me that made me think he was leaving something unsaid. "I'm still a little dirty from the ride back, and most of my stuff in filled with dust and sand, which explains the mess. I came here first to check on you and your mum."

I looked around the living room and saw that it was absent of my mum. "Where is she? Normally she's passed out on the sofa with a can in her hand by this time," I said bitterly.

Uncle Rob looked at me grimly. "She was. I knocked loudly a few times, but she never answered. I let myself in when I started to ring the house and no one answered. When I saw her passed out on the floor, I panicked." He shook his head and we shared a look of sadness.

"I've stopped letting myself get worked up anymore, Uncle Rob. I've tried everything with her. She just doesn't care."

"How do you know that?"

"I don't think she realizes that she still has a daughter, Uncle Rob." I looked at my hands. "She doesn't love me."

I almost shit myself when I felt his hands grab my shoulders tightly out of nowhere and shake me. When I glanced up, Uncle Rob's light blue eyes had a hard, determined edge to them. Like he was mentally willing me to listen to him. "Don't say that, Emma. She's your mother. She took it really hard when your father died-"

"So did I!" I shot back tearfully. "Don't give me all this, '_you should feel sorry for her'_, crap! I felt like I was going to die when he did, but I picked myself up and carried on even though it was the hardest thing I've ever had to do!" I pointed to the ceiling to the room where I knew mum was passed out and glared. "She didn't even try. She gave up; on herself, on dad…on _me_. You weren't here…you don't know what it's been like."

He let me go when I shook him off, and I stepped back. The prickling sensation in my eyes warned me that I was on the verge of crying, but I wouldn't allow it. I promised myself I wouldn't cry over her again. Not anymore. "I don't know what else to do. I've tried everything. I tried to get her help, I tried telling the school. I even tried to get her an appointment with a therapist but that shits expensive!"

I looked up at him and felt my heart jolt for a second at how similar he looked to my dad. Where my dad had had short cut hair for his job, Uncle Rob's hair was a lighter brown and was swept back in ripples. His eyes were a watery blue, and although they had been brothers, dad's face had been sharper; more defined. Rob's face was more rounded. Though he was the older brother, Rob still had the look of youth around him. He had smile lines around his eyes and mouth, but his forehead was lined deeply-most likely from his labouring job and frowning too much because of it. His skin was tanned almost golden from the time he must have spent working in the sun out in Australia, not that I envied him, though it did suit him. Apart from his tan, he almost looked like an older version of his son, Derek.

When he looked at me, I could only describe the expression he gave me as one that someone gave when they wanted to do something to help, but didn't know what, or how. He nibbled his bottom lip and frowned as he listened to me talk, and I half expected him to cut me off and tell me I was being childish, but he didn't. He just listened.

"It's…it's like she's already dead."

Without a word, he strode toward me and pulled me into a hug. He wrapped his arms around me and squeezed tightly. "We'll sort this out, Emma. I'm back now…we'll sort this out," he vowed.

~X~

"Are you gonna tell me where you got that bruise from?"

I shook my head as I handed him his coffee and sat on the sofa. "Nope."

"Was it a fight at school?"

"Nope."

"A boyfriend?"

"Please," I snorted. "If a guy ever laid a finger on me I'd knock his teeth out and castrate him with them."

Uncle Rob conspicuously crossed his legs and frowned at the TV. "Wonderful mental image, Emma. Thanks for that." He sipped his coffee. "Nice to know you you'd look after yourself in a relationship though."

"Not really interested in a relationship right now. I'm better off single. Always have been."

"If you live by that attitude, you'll grow to be an old spinster with a dozen cats," he warned.

"I hate cats!" I disagreed, shuddering at the thought of those little beasts crawling all over me and digging their claws into my skin as a way of showing affection. Sadistic little bastards.

He shrugged. "Well, for some reason, spinsters always end up with cats." He looked at me with a humorous glint in his eyes. "I guess you'll just have to learn to love them."

"Fuck that. They aren't coming anywhere near me!"

We watched the TV for a few minutes in silence until he finally guessed the answer. He looked into his cup for a minute, slowly swirling around the contents. "It was your mother, wasn't it?" he asked quietly.

I swallowed hard and nodded when he looked up for confirmation. "She wasn't herself when she did it."

"Do you hate her?"

My stomach clenched tightly at his question. I didn't want to, but sometimes I couldn't help but to hate her. She had abandoned us to live in La La Land and drink herself into an almost comatose state. But whenever I thought of the reason why, and the promise I made to my dad, I felt guilty at allowing myself to feel that way. Sensing that he was still looking at me I shook my head.

"Not really. I'm just disappointed in her. She's my mum – she's supposed to fight _for_ me, not actually fight me. I'm tired of being her carer, Uncle Rob."

He nodded in understanding as he listened and looked into his cup once more. After another moment, he cleared his throat and rested it on the coffee table near us. He sat forward with his elbows on his knees and joined his hands together. "Emma, I need to be honest with you. I haven't got anywhere to go…to live. Everything didn't exactly go as planned in Australia. I lost my money, my car…everything."

"What? How did that happen?"

He wrung his hands. "I bumped into this guy. He was some big shot over there or something, I don't know, and I got myself into a bit of trouble. But that doesn't matter now. I came here because I thought you and your mother might help me out with a place to stay. After seeing the state she was in earlier, and from what you've told me, I'm thinking we could help each other? I can help you with your mum and in exchange, I live here for a bit till I get a place of my own? What do you say?"

I stared at him, eyes wide for a moment while I tried to process what he was saying. "What about living with Derek?"

Uncle Rob's faced turned a light shade of pink. "I doubt he'll want me around there while he's bringing girls back to his flat. I'd barely made it to his door to knock when I heard the noises coming from his place. No, doesn't really sound like a suitable place for me. Nice to know that things haven't changed much since I've been gone, though," he chuckled.

"Has he told you he's my counsellor at school?" I asked, knowing he'd get a laugh out of the irony.

As I'd predicted, Uncle Rob's eyes widened and he burst into a fit of belly laughs. "Derek? Giving advice?"

I smiled. "To be fair, he does help sometimes, but we mostly wonder off for a smoke until my session is up. If he gets caught he'll end up getting fired. He's only been at the job just under a year. Not good for a junior student counsellor."

"Sounds about right," Uncle Rob wiped his eye and smiled as he stared out of the window with a faraway look in his eyes. When he looked back at me, his expression was open and hopeful. "So, what do you say? Would you mind if I moved in and helped you and your mum out?"

"Not at all!" I grinned, my heart swelling with happiness at the prospect of my uncle living with us. "That would be great. I'm tired of looking after her all alone, Uncle Rob."

He reached over and ruffled my hair. "You won't have to do it anymore, Emma."

At that moment my phone rang. It buzzed away in my pocket, breaking our conversation off. With a smile, Uncle Rob rose from his seat with his coffee and announced that he was off to get a shower. Not that I could blame him. Dust and bits fell off him as he walked away. He needed one. Once he was out of earshot, I reached my phone out and frowned when I saw that the caller ID told me that Mike was calling.

"What is it Mike?" I sighed.

Mike's panicked voice echoed at the other end of the phone. "Angel, you'll never guess what. There has been another murder!"

I stood up immediately, my blood turning cold. "What?" I gasped. "Another girl?"

"Another two!"

* * *

**_Hey guys! So sorry for the long delay, but I've been real hard at work at university. Survived my first semester though ;) I'm back until January so I'm gonna try and get as much done as I can before I go back. Hope you enjoy this chapter. If you can, leave a review, and if there's any con-crit or spelling/grammar issues don't hesitate to notify me in a PM. Thanks :) _**


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